50 Johnlock Fics
by snapletonius
Summary: 50 assorted johnlock fics, all prompted by the OTP bootcamp challenge! Fluffy, Romantic, Angsty... all sorts around here!
1. Chapter 1

** Prompt 1:Weakness**  
John gave Sherlock a quick glance from the safety of the reflection in the mirror. It wasn't often that the two of them had a case that would require actually doing a social activity. Especially not one where dressing up was not only advised, but a necessity. When he first heard that they would be in costume he was fine. No big deal, just your average Halloween party, apart from the whole murderer bit.

He hadn't really anticipated that Sherlock would be providing his costume because in Sherlock's words "I doubt you can emulate or create for that matter anything appropriate." He was used to it by now, the ridiculous whims of Sherlock Holmes were something he was secretly quite fond of. Eventually he had come to terms with even that, mainly because this party was going to be risqué to put it lightly and he honestly looked forward to seeing what ridiculously terrible outfits Sherlock would produce. He went back to watching Sherlock in the mirror as he laid a bag on John's bed and went straight back to his own, with a similar bag in his hands. John finished his teeth and almost ran to his room. He had not seen either costume and they were to be leaving in thirty minutes.

Ripping open the bag and pulling on his costume, John had to admit that Sherlock had great taste. It was a simple costume, tight fitting navy suit pants, a white and navy striped t-shirt that hugged the muscles in his biceps and a white captains hat , all of which had a small gold anchor embroidered on them somewhere. John was pretty snug in it, but that was the point, after all he was wearing a very large amount of clothing.

"Sherlock! We'd better get going, was it not you who complained about being bored?" John was waiting in the kitchen, trying to think what Sherlock would possibly be wearing a that took so long to put on when Sherlock strode in. Wearing jodphurs, cowboy boots and hat and nothing else. His entire upper body was on display. "Sherlock... You look..." John struggled to find the words to say exactly his magnificent he looked. He looked away, knowing full well that Sherlock would detect every indecent thought he was having about tearing off those leather trousers and taking him right there, because that would make Sherlock uncomfortable and he didn't want that. He'd come to terms with the fact that his flatmate was unreachable. His lower half was having none of that.

Fuck. Sherlock raised an arched brow and took a step closer as John attempted to move behind the counter, praying that Sherlock hadn't seen the physical manifestation of his thoughts. A slight smirk had broken out on Sherlock's face as he cornered John, his half naked body pressed so close yet not quite touching John's. "Did you know" Sherlock murmured in a low baritone "that I have quite a weakness for sailors? Especially consulting bloggers?"

Sherlock pressed closer still and he met John's eyes. They were blazing, pupils eclipsing all but the tiniest ring of blue. John's lips were on his in a heartbeat, and Sherlock was melting into him, hands straying, heart pounding, limbs all entirely focused on this new, lust filled John almost forgot that they were wearing the costumes for a reason, so blank had John rendered his mind. Sherlock was surprised to find he had a physical reaction to John's every move, and having the constraining jodphurs on was the only reason he remembered the case, because it had been more than a little difficult to get them off. He broke away from John, looking a little dazed. "Apparently I have a weakness for consulting cowboy detectives" John breathed into him as they tried to compose themselves. There was always after the case, plus it was added incentive to finish quickly.

Sherlock was confident that he could be done within five minutes of arriving. Had to get there to finish, and a taxi was the only option. Calming down a bit was the only solution because the taxi driver would not be pleased to see that. Sherlock made a mental note to keep the shirt John was wearing. It was what had spurred him forward, apparently the fitted quality was something of a turn on. That in itself intrigued him. It called for more... Testing. After all, A quality experiment had at least three repetitions.


	2. Chapter 2

**Prompt 2:Bruises**  
Jim Moriarty knew exactly how to get Sherlock. It all started with a pool. John was unsuspecting, but then how many people expect a madman to take them hostage? Something about the pleasure Jim was taking in strapping the bombs to his body was confusing. John could see the red dot on his torso and it was the only reason he was not recoiling from the slither of Jim's hands over his skin. "Oooooh not a fan of that are we not Johnny boy? Poor pet doesn't like to be touched? How very ironic." Jim said liltingly, his eyes glittering with laughter.

John felt his grip tightening around his wrist, his throat threatening to release a cry of pain. John wouldn't let himself do that. He was a soldier, something he repeated continually in his head as Moriarty crushed first his wrists and then punched him in the face. A soldier. "You're no fun at aaaallll John, Sherlock needs to discipline you better." Jim laughed, looking at his watch. His grin widened as he pushed an earpiece into John's ear and shoved his purple wrists into the coat sleeves. "You say whatever I tell you to. One word different and BOOM both of you will die!" Moriarty zipped up the jacket as Sherlock's voice rang out from the pool. Jim pushed John out of the cubicle and into the darkened pool.

Sherlock's eyes filled with pain when he saw John, heard him speaking. John felt a stab in his chest when he realised that Sherlock thought he was Moriarty. It hurt more than it should have. Jim was laughing when he told John to unzip the coat, putting the bomb in full view of the detective. The impassive mask returned to Sherlock easily, but not before John caught worry and terror in his eyes. Through the whole ordeal Sherlock's eyes never left his, his gaze never faltered. When the red dots appeared on Sherlock, that made John really angry. No one got to threaten his Sherlock. "my Sherlock?" he thought to himself before forming a plan.

In a split second Moriarty was in his arms. "Go Sherlock, run!" Sherlock didn't move. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, as if to say _I won't leave you John. I will never leave you._ Sherlock's hand was quivering slightly, the gun clenched tightly in his fist pointing directly at Moriarty. The sound of "Staying alive" blasted into the air and Jim looked almost apologetic as he picked up the phone. "If you're lying I will skin you" he yelled, walking away. No sooner had he left did the snipers disappear.

Sherlock was on his knees in front of John, tearing the coat away, frantically unhooking the vest and throwing it away from them. He grabbed John's wrists and frowned at the grimace the John could not hide. Gently he peeled back his sleeves to reveal the palette of blues and purples that covered John's wrists in the shape of two hands. Sherlock was furious, his eyes blazed with hatred and, something else. John staggered as Sherlock's hands found his hips and his lips were on his neck. "Sherlock! Wh-what are you do- oohh" John found his hands tangled in Sherlock's soft curls, his mouth begging him to continue the assault on his neck. Sherlock nipped and sucked at the smooth skin with a hunger he usually reserved for cases. His hands crushed John against him, but John liked it. The pure strength that Sherlock exuded was unbearable and had John writhing against the wall. "You. Are. Mine!" Sherlock whispered into his neck. Everyone should know John belonged to him, if marking him was the only way to show it, Sherlock would cover him in marks. When he finally broke away, satisfied with his efforts, John was in shock. The handprints on his hips were Sherlock's own, bruised evenly so the colour would be plain. A navy blue, similar to his scarf. "Mine." He whispered as their lips met. "Yours" John choked out before succumbing to the need of the man against him.

Mycroft was blushing heavily in his office, his eyes had just located Sherlock minutes ago and the video feed was... Not unexpected, but a surprise none the less. "Anthea?" "Mhmm?" "Send something for bruising to Baker street for me, I believe will be needing it."


	3. Chapter 3

**"Don't talk to me"**  
Sherlock was furious. Who gave Mycroft the right to bring him here against his will? It was only a scratch, if he could go home John would take care of it in moments. Sherlock felt a pang of guilt when he thought about John. He had run off that morning without saying where he was going or what he was doing and John would wake up to find him gone again. To top it off if John had have been there the whole stabbing incident would have been avoided. Not that Sherlock was going to admit that.

He found himself lying on an antique sofa in Mycroft's home. He made an extra effort to bleed on it in areas that would be difficult to clean. He knew it was a lucky thing that he had managed to remain conscious long enough to force the medics away from him. Only John got to patch him up. The wound went from his fifth rib down to his thigh and was bleeding steadily, a constant stream of blood ran down his right side. At least the perpetrator had been an amateur with a knife. If he had his usual weapons Sherlock may not have survived. Wincing slightly, Sherlock began to file away the sensory information he had received, this was a wound type he had not yet experienced. Cataloging it was of the utmost importance.

He was just finished when the door opened and Mycroft strolled in. Sherlock scowled into the sofa cushions. Not who he wanted to come through the door right now. "Sherlock I must admit I was rather surprised when I saw you on the tapes, running about by yourself after a mad man, but then of course I remembered it was you and the scenario seemed... Appropriate. I must say that I did wonder where had gotten to, I know he would not be pleased to learn of your current condition, especially when he's already a slave to his emotions where you're involved." Mycroft smirked, twirling his umbrella in a manner that made Sherlock want to punch him. "Don't talk to me" Mycroft laughed dryly as his phone buzzed in his pocket "It's not me that you should be worried about talking to" he said putting it to his ear.

"Ah! , to what do I owe the pleasure?" Sherlock could only hear a low rumble from his spot on the couch but the grin on Mycroft's face probably meant John was worried about him. "Actually John, he's here with me...an unfortunate incident with a suspect...treatment? obviously not you know as well as I the stubborn ways...of course, I can send someone for you...A car will arrive in three minutes. Good day ." Mycroft wheeled around "Sounds like the dear doctor is anxious for your safety. Apparently you are the most idiotic genius he's ever met. I think I'm growing to like this one, we agree on so many important issues." Sherlock said nothing, the pain was starting to become more intense and he was in no mood to deal with Mycroft.

The clack of the umbrella faded into the distance and Sherlock was left alone once more. He felt drowsy, but because he did not know whether that was due to the conclusion of the case or due to blood loss he would not allow himself to sleep. He was glad he'd foregone his coat that morning as it would have been hellishly difficult to clean all the blood stains out of it. John would arrive soon and Sherlock wanted to look as good as possible to avoid the worst of his anger. That being said it was more difficult that he anticipated to roll onto his back without widening the cut. In the end he simply endured the pain and lay panting on his back.

The door opened a second time and Sherlock had his eyes closed "I said don't talk to me" he spat in the general direction of the door. "I hope that was meant for Mycroft because you'll be lucky if all I do is talk to you." John muttered as he made his way across to Sherlock's side with stitches and bandages. "John I" John shook his head "Later. Right now you're a patient and I'm going to treat you like that. Treatment first, everything else after." John used his most commanding voice and Sherlock was not in any state to argue. Carefully John lowered himself onto the couch and lifted Sherlock into an upright position and then sat at his side, hands fluttering gently over his skin. "This will sting quite a bit" he said through gritted teeth as he ran the needle through Sherlock's skin. John was not enjoying inflicting the pain anymore than Sherlock enjoyed feeling it.

The gash was long and wide, but not too deep. That was all John could think while he spent twenty minutes sewing Sherlock's side back together. The sheen

of sweat that covered Sherlock's brow curbed most of the anger he had been planning on taking out. Wrapping the bandage around him, John pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. "You're an idiot" he whispered before standing up. Sherlock reached up and grabbed his wrists, fear in his eyes. "Are you leaving?" John looked conflicted but eventually he settled. "No. I'm about to carry you to bed so you can sleep." Sherlock smiled sleepily at him and snuggled into John's neck when he lifted him up. "You know *yawn* I think I love you John" Sherlock murmured as John tucked him in. Even though Sherlock was already passed out John whispered in his ear "I know. I love you too Sherlock."


	4. Chapter 4

**Prompt 4:Bribe**  
"Sherlock what are doing? Is that my jumper?" John had just come home from the clinic to find a lump on the couch, wrapped in a sheet and his favourite jumper. John hung his coat up and went to sit down in the armchair but a hand caught his wrist as he walked by. "Sherlock? Are you alright?" Sherlock rolled over to face John. He was shivering and even paler now than usual, his lips were a lilac colour that gave him an alien quality. "I believe that I may have subjected myself to hypothermia" Sherlock managed to get out through chattering teeth. John took his pulse and swore at the freezing temperature of his skin.

"Right. Bed now. I'll bring you some things to help you get warm again okay?" Sherlock nodded and heaved himself up. As soon as he got to his feet he crumpled but John was already there, picking him up with ease. "I know you hate it but I'm going to have to carry you" he said, moving slowly to Sherlock's room. "No I want to go to your room" Sherlock said, pouting slightly. "Fine my room then" John sighed and turned around. Climbing the stairs was difficult considering Sherlock had such awkward limbs that he could barely maneuver through the door.

It was actually a better idea to have him in John's room. It was cosy and warm, and assortment of blankets and pillows were tucked in military precision on his bed. Afghanistan had made him crave heat. John laid Sherlock down on the bed and pulled a couple of blankets over him. Sherlock was still shivering. "I'llbe right back, I'm getting some tea and a hot water bottle for you okay?" Sherlock's lack of response generally meant yes so John trundled downstairs and flicked the kettle on. There was one surefire way to help Sherlock back to a human temperature but it would be awkward in the extreme for John. He'd have to focus very hard on anything but what he was doing.

Maybe soup would be a good plan, something warm in his stomach would do Sherlock good. After all he barely ate anything. All John had to do was get into doctor mode and it would be fine. Just keep telling yourself that he muttered to himself as he lifted the tray upstairs. Sherlock had not improved any while he had been gone. If anything he was worse. John sighed and began stripping off. "Wh-what are you doing John?" John focused very hard on untieing his laces. "Body heat is the most effective way of fixing hypothermia, and seeing as I'm the only body available..." Sherlock was staring at him when he pulled off his trousers.

Think of things you hate, ugly people, your aunt Mary, anything but the almost naked man you're about to get into bed with. John lifted the blankets he had covered Sherlock with and slid beneath them, his chest to Sherlock's back. John shuffled closer and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's torso, threading his legs around Sherlock's own. Sherlock sighed audibly and sank into the embrace. John took the opportunity to bury his face in Sherlock's curls, breathing in the scent that was oh so Sherlock.

After a few minutes Sherlock was back to an almost normal temperature. John tried to give him the soup but Sherlock recoiled. It was late and John was too tired to try and force him to eat it, so he made to leave. "John?" Sherlock said, voice muffled by the pillows. "Yeah Sherlock ?" "If I eat the soup will you stay?" John was taken aback. "What?" Sherlock groaned. "If I eat the soup will you lie with me again?" John contemplated it for a while. On one hand Sherlock needed to eat something and John would be happy if he ate even a tiny amount. On the other... Lying with him like that... If he would never get to do it for real, he might as well savour the one time he did. "Alright. Eat it and I'll stay."

John sat back and watched in awe as Sherlock propped himself up and downed most of the soup in one gulp, and the rest of it in a second. Then Sherlock lay back down, fluffed the pillows and patted the space beside him, a genuine smile on his face. John bit back a laugh and climbed back into the bed. "You didn't have to bribe me you know, you could have just asked me to stay." Sherlock frowned. "Would you have stayed if I'd asked?" "Of course." "Oh. And... If I asked you again would you do it again? Even if I wasn't sick?" John smirked "Yes" Sherlock rolled over to face John "You won't mind if people talk?" "No, not if what they're saying is true" Sherlock stayed silent for a while and John thought he had fallen asleep.

"John?" "Yes Sherlock?" "Is it not good that I like having you closer to me, like you were earlier?" John shook his head."No that's fine, most people like having the people they like near them." John nearly hit himself for the insinuation, no way to take it back now though. Again there was prolonged silence. "Would you... Say that you _like_ me?" Sherlock's eyes were wide and innocent, a vulnerability seeped from him. John did not hesitate in his answer, honesty was the only way forward. "Yes Sherlock, I do like you. Since the first time we met I liked you, surprisingly enough." Sherlock smiled brightly. "Good. I like you too. Now what do we do?" John shrugged. It was good to know that Sherlock liked him too but it was a huge step to go from friends to more than that. "We'll think about it in the morning ok? Let's just get some sleep." John closed his eyes and started to drift off when he felt Sherlock's skin against his own, shuffling back into his body. John moved his arms around Sherlock and pulled him closer. "Night Sh'lock" Sherlock nestled closer. "Goodnight John."


	5. Chapter 5

** Prompt 5:Sinner**

It had been an interesting case, an eight on the scale for the sheer vastness of the population involved. Then again, even John had known to try the funeral home for the killer, but John was smarter than most anyway. It had been hilarious to see the blank stare in Anderson's eyes when John had mentioned that. Sherlock had never been happier to be a small step behind. The glorious thing was that the case didn't end there. Oh no, the whole spree went so much deeper than that. Paul, or rather Pauline, was the original killer but her victim, a seemingly innocent man had not been a "random" kill. It was a hit, sent out by the large scale gambling ring that Pauline was indebted to. They too had received orders from elsewhere, and the trafficking ring that had grown in the sewers of London (Sherlock made a note to warn John next time they were going somewhere like that. The tears in John's eyes as they sprinted through had made him very angry) did not spring from nothing. An entire week and a half later and they had reached the top tier. The trail had lead to one place most people would not have even thought of. Sherlock had suspected after day three but "evidence" was what Lestrade had wanted, evidence was what he'd get.

John rubbed a hand over his eyes when he thought Sherlock wasn't looking, he hadn't had sleep in a good five days, not that he would even dream of complaining, not when Sherlock was so vibrant. It was the case of a life time and the number of people they had saved from criminals and... Slaves they'd freed had personally thanked them both. John had gotten to know some of them, mainly because he was a doctor first before a blogger and it was in those sewers that he had forced Sherlock to stop, just for an hour. Just so he could help these people. Sherlock had taken one look at him and nodded, dashing home and returning in minutes with a medical kit and help on the way. Sherlock had even broken his strict no unecessary physical contact during cases rule to give John a hug and a quick peck.

He sighed inwardly. It was irritating in the extreme that he could not trust himself to focus if a small amount of John time was on offer. He'd consume John if he could, just so he would never have to be without his presence, so he could always feel their hearts beating against each other, and see that crooked smile that made his own mouth curve upward involuntarily. In the backseat of the taxi Sherlock could feel the tiredness oozing out of John and again he was left feeling guilty. John only stayed up for him, making sure he wasn't alone, guarding doors or entrances when Sherlock was absent in his own mind. He contemplated for a moment and then pressed a soft kiss on John's lips. "Thank you" John's hand curled around his waist and pulled him closer "No need, honestly" he replied, instantly sitting straighter as they trundled down the crammed streets.

"Where are we headed exactly Sherlock?" Sherlock gave John the how-on-earth-have-you-not-figured-it-out-yet stare before launching into a brief overview of why they were going to the West London Christian brothers church. John peppered the conversation with various brilliant and amazings. Sherlock made the executive decision to keep one small inkling to himself. He needed to see the man for himself to know for certain, and he wanted to be positive. The taxi pulled to a halt outside the modest stone building and John quickly payed, jogging to catch Sherlock as he made his way to the park bench across the way. A stake out would be perfect, plus it was almost sunny and would be warm for another few hours at least.

John sank into the seat happily, not saying a word. Sherlock appreciated John's consideration, it just showed how well matched they were that he would sit in total silence without being told off anymore. Sherlock watched the people who strolled through the park, counting four unhappy marriages, two unwittingly pregnant women, A police man with a crush on his superior (The ID said he worked in NSY. Obviously Lestrade. Sherlock put away that information for Mycroft torture later) and several members of a high profile swingers club during the two hours they sat. He was about to suggest a different spot when he saw it.

A boy (16 years old, single mother, former addict, three young siblings, lives in the outskirts of London, forced to participate in religious activities by counsellor), entering the church, his shoulders quaking slightly with fear. Ah. He had been right then. He wished a little bit that he had been wrong. Now they had to wait for the real man they were looking for. And Sherlock had a great idea about how to get him to show himself to them. "My phone John" he said, palm outstretched. John smiled lightly and reached into his coat pockets for the phone. Sherlock sent a quick text to Lestrade who replied almost instantly. 10 minutes before the police would arrive. Sherlock got to his feet and pulled John up with him. In the corner of his eye he spotted a severe looking man in religious garb, only about 47, an outlier in the bell curve of the age of people in religious orders.

Smirking at John he closed the small distance between them and pressed his lips softly against John's. As always John was very responsive, and he almost made Sherlock forget what they were doing with his very skilled ministrations. "Sinners! The two of you are headed straight to hell! You'll burn for eternity for your actions!" The man had very nearly pulled them apart, his eyes bulging with indignation. John was blushing slightly, but Sherlock turned quickly and stared at the man. "Father, just the man I wanted to see. How strange of you to be so vocal, after all you participated in a much more ungodly act a mere thirty minutes ago and you're about to become a repeat offender." Sherlock wanted to gag. He could see everything on the man and it disgusted him. Keeping up the façade was difficult, but ordinary idiots didn't deserve to know that he had feelings.

The priest was bristling with fury now, but behind his eyes was a fear, like a deer in the headlights of a car. "Those boys are terrified of you, and rightly so judging by the strength of your whipping arm." Sherlock could see the cogs turning in John's head and he knew the exact moment it all clicked into place, John's face went completely blank. Perfect Sherlock thought to himself. A beating would be a nice send off for the sadistic paedofile. "Be my guest John" he muttered and John was moving forward, pushing the priest back into the church. Sherlock followed, skipping gleefully. John hadn't beaten up anyone in ages. It was one of his favourite qualities in John, his ability to carefully assault people who truly deserved it so that they were in great pain, but it didn't look as if he had actually done very much at all. The signature closing punch in the face was his favourite part. The grunts were muffled but he knew John was letting loose. Child abuse was the worst offence in his mind, equalled by nothing except perhaps sexual abuse. Pair the two together... Sherlock only stepped in when he heard footsteps on the gravel outside.

Lestrade sighed deeply when he saw John blowing gently on his knuckles, Sherlock's arms around his waist. "Do I need to call an ambulance for him?" He gestured to the priest who was being cuffed by the same officer that Sherlock had seen earlier. He snorted a bit, Lestrade had no clue, this would make for good fun with Mycroft later. "No. He'll be in pain but the injuries are superficial." John said. "Mostly" he whispered just loud enough for Sherlock to hear.

Later on, when they finally arrived home John immediately made his way to the shower. "John?" Sherlock was confused by that, usually tea came first. He had been watching John intently the whole way home and his expressive face showed something not unlike discomfort for the majority of the journey home. He heard John stifle a laugh. "I have to wash away my sins" and John exploded with laughter. Sherlock waited paitently for him to finish, holding back a smile. "Is that why you looked so uncomfortable? You've been waiting to make that joke all evening?" John could only nod as he wiped tears out of his eyes. "Sorry! Oh God that was just... It was too ironic!" John had sobered significantly when he spoke next. "Going to hell, if there is one, wouldn't be too bad would it?"Sherlock pressed him back against the wall "At least there's criminals, genii and an abundance of sex available in hell. After all we'd be there forever!" He whispered, his voice low, directly into John's ear. That tone alone was almost too much, but putting it with Sherlock talking about sex? John was dragging him to the bedroom in seconds. Sinfully good.


	6. Chapter 6

**Prompt 6:Perfume **  
Now now now now now now now now now now. Sherlock's senses were screaming at him, dragging him down, demanding satisfaction, release. The only type of release he had ever known. John had been gone for two weeks now, he had left in a fit of anger and not returned since. Mrs. Hudson was also away, in the company of her ailing sister who was destined to die within the month. Sherlock was alone in Baker street, but he had been alone for much longer than that. His whole life had been one long tangent of being alone, finding someone who could perhaps be a friend and then burning that bridge. First Mycroft, now his John... Sherlock curled in tighter, hugging his knees against his chest as he had done for so many years, the position almost second nature, his muscle memory had not forgotten even after all this time the comfort the stillness had once offered him. Not anymore. Comfort was John and lumpy jumpers and the smell of tea and a crooked grin and a pat on the arm and an inappropriate giggle. Tonight comfort was absent, it had been for 12.5 nights now.

His mind was stagnating in his skull even now, there was no John to occupy his every thought, no case to satisfy his hunger. The lights in 221 Baker street had not been turned on for six days now. Darkness seemed apt, it was supposed to numb him, dull his senses until he couldn't lie to himself about the only real solution. Seven years sober. He had promised himself, Mycroft, Lestrade, John never to go back. Yet the resolve was fading, crumbling more with each passing minute. They would be so disappointed. Just like every one always was, Mummy about his wasted talents, Mycroft about his lack of interest, Lestrade at his calculating ways, John at his occasional cutting comments. Sherlock was one massive disappointment, adding one more item to the long list would not matter. No one would be there to chastise him anyway, they wouldn't find out. There were at least three trustworthy dealers in the direct vicinity, and even with Mycroft's eyes Sherlock could hide. He was never found if he didn't want to be.

His coat, his scarf, too conspicuous and they reminded him of John, cases. Must have been sentiment but he did not want to taint those memories with this. Instead he slunk carefully into John's room and pulled on one of his rattiest old jumpers, one he never wore in Sherlock's presence and likely hadn't worn for years. His scent was not laced into the fabric. Perfect for this purpose, to conceal the small sack of cocaine he would acquire. London was dark and foreboding, holding it's breath, moving in slow motion through a vacuum. He hugged his arms closer to himself, moving blithely through the shadows. The cast iron door embedded into the crippled brickwork hid the seedy truth of his past. The highs and ecstasies, crashing lows, unpleasant deeds and abuse all lay waiting behind the door. Three sharp raps in quick succession and a purple eye appeared at the glass eye piece as the bolt was slid open. The leathery face wrinkled up into a leacherous smile. Before the man could say anything obvious Sherlock cut across him. He simply held out his hand. The small bag dropped in his palm, the feeling so intrinsically familiar, a perfect gram. Sherlock thrust some cash into the eager hands and turned, fleeing on his heels back to Baker street.

He sat staring at the small bag of powder for a long time on the ground by the sofa, air filling with the perfume of guilt and need. In the back of his mind he wondered how John hadn't smelled it every time Sherlock tried to talk to him about feelings. Then again, John had left him, just like all people do, and admitting that he loved him would not change that fact. Sherlock did not want to feel. Not anymore. With that, he opened the bag with trembling fingers. On his back, staring up at the ceiling, unseeing, Sherlock never heard the clatter of heavy footfalls on old stairs. He did not acknowledge the familiar voice calling out to him from the stairs, though the sounds were more beautiful than any melody. He did not move when his love dropped everything to run to him, nor when the doctor diagnosed him with shaking hands. He barely heard anything at all, but his body knew John was there, hands running through his curls, soft tears falling against his skin, the air perfumed once more subconsciously by need and guilt. His mind was a million miles away, racing down thousands of paths every second. John however had to sit, mind focusing on one topic: how he had failed Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock barely registered that John was moving him, propping his torso up and shimmying back against the wall before pulling Sherlock against him, sitting with Sherlock between his legs and holding him, soothing himself more than anything. John knew he shouldn't have left for the relief trip angry, but Sherlock had been ignoring him. The lack of mobile coverage in Somalia had been a struggle, but useful too. John couldn't imagine he would have been able to avoid telling his flatmate that he was in love with him via text just to avoid the turmoil he had gone through not knowing if it was all one sided. He had come home early to do just that. To tell him. "I love you Sherlock, even if you don't love yourself. I'm here. I will always come back. Always." He whispered into the dark curls against his shoulders. "I will fight for you" he murmured, knowing that it would be a fight to contain this relapse. Sherlock had was still out of it, John could almost see his mind working."Most importantly, I will wait." John wiped a stray tear off his face. And he waited.


	7. Chapter 7

** Prompt 7:Dice**  
John sighed and downed another pint, shaking heavy raindrops from his hair. There was no escaping the revelation that had shaken the very foundation of his life. In truth he had known since he was a teenager that he was bi, but women were his poison of choice. But then he'd crashed into Mike and now... "Sherlock bloody Holmes" he muttered darkly into his rapidly emptying glass. At first it had been un-noticable, after all John had his dates and women offered him them all the time. Yet after a while the whole thing would sour and they all said the same thing: that he was in love with Sherlock. Denial only gets you so far and when Sarah had sat him down and gone through all the signs with him, there was no hope for denial anymore.

It was true. He was in love with a madman who was obnoxious and socially inept and down right rude to most people, but not to him. To him he was brilliant and trusting, vulnerable and guarded, caring about so many people but labelling himself a sociopath to avoid the emotions that he'd have to face otherwise. Only a person of questionable sanity would even think of Sherlock as less than a lunatic with a death wish... "But he said danger and here I am" John snorted to himself. His sanity was questionable at best. He groaned into his hands. The conversation (well was it really a conversation? More a lecture in how much of an idiot he was) with Sarah had been two weeks ago and now he couldn't look Sherlock in the eye without thinking about it, and seeing as Sherlock observed everything avoidance was the only viable option. He'd started taking extra shifts at the clinic, night shifts too, just to stay away. It was lonely enough and he hated to admit the pang of longing that went through him when he thought about Sherlock at home alone. He brushed that aside quickly enough, Sherlock would barely have noticed he was gone most of the time. In fact now that he thought about it he'd gone for four entire days without once seeing the detective at all. It both impressed and saddened him that he was able to achieve this so easily.

"But why? I don't understand Mycroft! It's not like he moved out, I can tell that he's here for a few hours at a time but then he leaves before I get back or wake up. It's not exactly as if I know what I did, though most times I don't..." Mycroft sat silent in the armchair, tapping his umbrella against the floorboards and waiting for Sherlock to finish pacing. "Sherlock have you possibly considered that it is not you who has done something?" Sherlock twirled around "A new girlfriend? But surely he would have worn nicer clothes and smelled less like the clinic" Mycroft sighed. "I meant that he has done something, although I dare say that Sarah woman played her part... You must have figured it out by now surely." Sherlock wracked his brain but nothing came. He looked so lost, and with what was coming next Mycroft decided to take pity on him, just this once. "Sherlock sit down. From what my sources can gather two weeks ago Sarah got tired of watching idly by while John was oblivious to certain facts, so she had a long discussion with him about it and apparently John reached the desired conclusion, although he didn't look pleased, more ill than anything else" Mycroft drawled at the befuddled detective. "What could John have been oblivious about that Sarah would have noticed?"

Mycroft bit back the urge to laugh. His brother may have been a genius but at this he was most certainly not. "Will I tell you? I don't know if you'll appreciate it brother." Sherlock glared at him "Oh don't be so dramatic Mycroft, it's not a good colour on you." " is, and has been for quite some time now, rather infatuated with you. I may add that you are exactly as 'mad for him' as he is for you" Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, a witty, cutting retort, perhaps about his weight or maybe even how Lestrade had forgotten his name the other day, but nothing came out. His mind was processing the information at double speed. Of course he had noticed his own attraction to his John, after all it was difficult to ignore when you awoke to it staring you in the face. Yet John felt the same way? That was... how could it have slipped past him? Unless of course Mycroft was lying. "I am not lying Sherlock. I do have a veritable list of sources and more than enough video footage to prove it to you." Proof. That was logical, easy to understand. "Show me."

Greg plopped himself down on the stool across from John and waited for him to acknowledge his presence. " Alright Greg?" Greg laughed slightly and gestured to John "Pretty sure you're the one that needs to be asked if they're alright" John smiled. A quick look to the men sitting a few tables down and two new pints sat on the table in front of them, courtesy of the "young chaps down there." Lestrade winked slyly at them and turned his attention back to John. "So. Out with it. I haven't so much as heard from you in a week. What's up?" Contemplating lying for a minute, John groaned and spilled the beans. Greg nodded and looked sympathetic. "... And so I now, unfortunately, can't look at the man without thinking about it and if I think it he sees it and if he saw ... It would just make things more awkward and I don't want to put him in that position you know? Doesn't help that I've loved the bastard for a good year now without knowing it. Waking up was very unpleasant for a few days to say the least." Lestrade knew exactly where he was coming from. " Tell me about it. Apparently the British government likes to make an appearance in my mind more often than even you could deem appropriate. God we're well and truly fucked aren't we?" John raised his glass and took a long gulp. Despite his stature, John could hold a substantial amount of alcohol and he wasn't even tipsy yet. It was more a symbolic thing than anything else. "I've barely been home for two weeks and I'm pretty sure he has no clue that I'm gone. Ugh." "Only one thing for it then mate" Greg smiled softly. "Think it's about time we rolled the dice and let the chips fall where they may. I mean you can't avoid him forever and I'd rather not turn scarlet every time Mycroft enters a room. I reckon that we should just say something, a double date even if it makes you feel better." John was crumbling. Damn Sherlock for making him think more logically. "Right. You're right. Let's do this then." Greg blanched but rose and pulled his jacket back on, straightening his tie and resolving to at least attempt to act cool. John's eyes were determined and his gait was purposeful. They were doing this. "Where to?" "221 Baker street."

Mycroft froze the frame and zoomed in for the thirty seventh time. Once again Sherlock was muttering, analysing every tiny detail. "Satisfied yet brother? He does feel for you, care for you more deeply than I think even he knows he is capable of. It's perfectly alright you know Lock. To care about John. He's a good man, and I believe he is worthy of you. There are sometimes, very rare instances, where caring is not a disadvantage. John will make you happy." Sherlock was still as a statue behind him, at a complete loss. John might feel that way, and the connection was there but it was about whether he chose to act on anything, after all he hadn't up to now. Sentiment. So utterly confusing. "What do I do Croft? He's... I don't want to scare him away! I can't lose him... Not now or fifty years from now." Sherlock wrapped his robe around himself and stared wide eyed at his brother as he used to when he was a child. For once, Mycroft did not have the answer. There was no way to avoid hypocrisy by saying to just tell John because he hadn't said anything to Gregory and they'd been acquainted for years. "I'm not sure, It's not really my area Lock." Mycroft blushed at that and leaned back in the chair head lolling to the side. He cupped his face in his hands and sighed. "This is not as simple as normal people make it seem." Sherlock snorted in agreement and rose to make coffee. He'd just set the mugs on the table when footsteps began to clatter up the stairs. A key turned in the lock and his heart jumped. It was John.

"So yeah, I guess that's a plan" John smiled at Greg as they closed the door. "Hello Sherlock,Mycroft" John bustled into the kitchen. "Tea Greg?" Greg smirked at the light pink dusting the brother's faces "Ta John. Afternoon Mycroft, Sherlock" Mycroft smiled tightly while Sherlock grunted. "How does Saturday look for you?" Lestrade took out his phone. "Around eight good for you John? I've a meeting till about half seven but I should be able to make it across in no time." Sherlock looked across at a bemused Mycroft who simply shrugged, this plan was new as their calendars had no record of it. "Saturday at eight sounds good to me." Sherlock watched Greg squeeze John's arm in... Solidarity? Before John blushed and smiled at Sherlock shyly. Roll the dice Watson. "Erm Sherlock?" Sherlock's heart was pounding. Was this actually happening? "Would you maybe um...Wouldyouliketogooutonadatewithmeonsaturday?" The faster he said it the easier it was, until the words were a blur of long vowels and harsh consonant sounds. Sherlock replayed the audio again in his head just to be sure, and his face broke out into a beaming smile when he nodded. Greg cleared his throat before turning to face Mycroft who was already pretty well stunned "Mycroft would you care to join me, I think a double date requires two dates, unless I'm very much mistaken?" Greg sounded suave, confident. John kicked him for having the gall to hide his nerves. Mycroft blushed, the colour standing out against his usually neutral face,and nodded. "I believe I can clear my schedule." John turned back to the kettle and slyly high fived Greg as he passed.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/n A Kate asked for some more Possessive!Sherlock (well, kind of) so here you go (again, kind of)**

** Prompt 8: Lord**  
"Tell me again why we're going to a club?" John called from the bathroom, voice muffled by toothpaste. "It's the scene of the crime. Obvious." John chuckled to himself and mimicked Sherlock's lofty "Obvious" silently in the mirror before heading back to his room. It had been a while since he had been near a club, not after Harry of all people had told him it was better to stay away. They hadn't been his scene since was young and now that he was older the appeal hadn't changed. In fact he felt a little bit ridiculous. Probably a British thing he concluded, pulling on his black suit pants and the only non-checked shirt he owned, a light blue that high lighted his muscular torso. John slipped a pair of black loafers on and strolled to the kitchen, tucking his gun carefully into the deep pockets of his coat as he passed."Sherlock? When did you say we have to be there?" Warm breath blew across his neck and John knew Sherlock had done the whole silent movement act just because he liked terrifying John. "Around now would be good" John growled before turning around.

Sherlock was speechless when he saw the soft blue that John had hidden beneath his shapeless khaki coat. Not that John knew that of course, how could he know that he was all that Sherlock could think about, all because of that one shirt. Similarly Sherlock could not know that John's mind was frazzled from the amount of times he'd seen the detective in his purple silk shirt, the one he was wearing now, or when he was wrapped only in a sheet, pale shoulders just creeping out over the top, or when he whirled about like a madman in his dressing gown and pyjamas, curly hair rumpled from sleep or lack of it. Nope. John, ever the soldier, ploughed ahead with his reprimand about sneaking up on a ptsd sufferer, not really paying attention to a word that passed his lips. Neither was Sherlock so it didn't matter anyway. John sighed "Well come on then" and he opened the door for Sherlock who paused only to lift his coat from the hook by the door.

The taxi ride was a short one by their standards, with the two of them sitting in amiable silence, each avoiding staring at the general chest area of the other. Before they even rounded the corner of the club John could feel the bass vibrating in his chest. It had been a long time since he'd felt that pulsating need to respond to the rhythm, to just go with it. He remembered now why he didn't go to clubs, because he really did not have any control over his actions when he was there. It had gotten him a lot of attention in the past and Harry was the one who suggested that maybe it wasn't the best idea. Which was true, John could see her point of view, after all anything that stemmed from those nights tended to be superficial. Now though he couldn't just back out, and yet his self control was seriously lacking when it came to a heavy bass line. Maybe that's why he liked Sherlock's voice so much...

The taxi glided to a halt and Sherlock leapt out, tossing cash behind him. "Eager as ever" John mused to no one in particular. Looking at the lines of people queued outside, John was pretty pleased with his attempt at dressing the part. Most of the men were wearing some form of suit like outfit so at least he wouldn't stand out entirely. Sherlock shepherded him to the front, and merely nodded at the bouncer who simply lifted the red barrier and ushered them inside. Sherlock surveyed the club. It was not empty, but not too full either. He made a note to use that as the compliment that it was when talking to the owner later. Right now he wanted a drink. While he didn't enjoy the music itself Sherlock could appreciate it's values, only because it essentially blasted all background thought from his mind which was a... nice change. John's hand was on his arm, motioning towards the bar. Sherlock simply nodded and they threaded through the throngs of people, reconvening at the bar where John simply raised two fingers and called something unintelligble to the bar tender, and in a flash there were two drinks in front of them. Sherlock sipped the pink concoction experimentally and his eyes widened. It tasted pleasant, far more pleasant than lager or bourbon.

John chuckled at his expression and leaned into his ear "Strawberry daquiri" he yelled. Sherlock committed the name to memory for future cases. If he had to get drunk for the work he might as well have a more pleasing taste in his 's foot was tapping lightly of it's own accord and Sherlock was anxious to get started so they could leave. He whipped out his phone and began to type furiously. John's phone came to life moments later. **I'm going to go find the owner, you stay here, keep an eye out. Ten minutes and I should have all I need -SH** John looked up and the man had disappeared already. The song changed, a remix of pussy cat dolls Buttons and John was done for. His legs were moving of their own accord to the dancefloor, standing almost directly in the intercept of the lasers and spotlight, and he began to move.

Sherlock had been right of course, the son had done it and his dad had not expected an actual inquest. An assumption Sherlock could not blame him for making given the track record of Scotland yard. He opened the office door and found himself on a low balcony of sorts, overlooking the entirety of the club. His eyes were drawn instantaneously to the center of the floor where a crowd had formed around one man who was dancing so effortlessly, body moving in perfect time, swaying and writhing, lithe and yet so very masculine. Sherlock's mouth had become incredibly dry, more so when he realised the identity of the man he was ogling shamelessly. It was John, muscles threatening to break free of his shirt as he ground his hips against the air. A blonde woman stalked her way over and pressed her body up against his, attempting to emulate the movements. They were dirty, very dirty, but not to the point of being vulgar. It was intoxicating to watch. Soon a swarm of women were fondling John's arms and grinding up against him and he simply went with it all. _Loosen up my buttons babe, but you can't touch, say what you gone do to me, but I say nothin'_

Sherlock didn't notice that he had walked down the steps and was now among the crowd that surrounded John. The beat changed and so too did John's movements. His hips gyrating more, coloured beams bouncing off his buttons to the distinctive sound of Rihanna's Birthday Cake. God Sherlock wanted him, wanted to touch his blogger, do everything he ever thought about doing. John would be his. He'd set his mind to it now. One of the women seemed to have beaten off the rest because she had her back pressed against John's chest, arm wrapped around his neck softly. Her lips touched his jaw and Sherlock was furious. They were leaving right now.

He pushed through the crowd and grabbed John, dragging him away regardless of the loud hey that was yelled at him. Sherlock practically sprinted to the door and dragged John with him, pushing him back into the alley as soon as they reached the outside world. John's back connected with the wall of the club and he raised his hands to push Sherlock back when he looked into his eyes. Sherlock , it rolled off him in waves. He was still out of it, apparently dancing like that was like being drunk for John. "Dear lord! What's wrong Sherlock?" he yelled crankily as Sherlock began to stalk towards him, keeping their eyes locked. Faster than lightening Sherlock's pale hand was grabbing his cheeks and turning his head roughly to the side.

"That" Sherlock growled and pointed at the lipstick stain on John's cheek "is the problem." Sherlock pushed John's head back against the wall. "No one but me gets to do that. If I have to mark you I will. You are mine. Understand?" Sherlock hissed, teeth grazing over John's back Adams apple. "M." Now his tongue was flicking tentatively over the skin "I." His lips were sucking hard at John's neck, making him shudder and cry out sweet nothings into the night "N." Slender fingers threaded their way through blonde hair and tugged lightly "E." Soft pink lips met his, the hungry movement contrasting the softness perfectly. "MINE." Sherlock snarled and all John could do was gasp and nod because Sherlock's hand had slithered into his trousers against a wall in an alleyway and dear lord they were going dancing again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Prompt 9: Applause**  
Sherlock Holmes dreamed of many things. It was the only break he had from the constant buzz of information in his head. His dreams were vivid as life itself and more often then not, since he and John had furthered their relationship, were John centric.

Tonight was no exception. Sherlock looked around the world his mind had created. Everything was bathed in crimson light and Sherlock could feel the weight of something in his hands. His violin.

Ah. The light would be filtering through velvet curtains then, was Sherlock supposed to perform? Likely. That was fine, he had no problem showing off.

His dreamself strode confidently onto the stage, ignoring his surroundings, focusing on the tall, brass music stand before him. A single sheet of music lay perched on it and one look told Sherlock what it was.

It was John's song. He swallowed deeply and lifted his bow. The melody flowed out with ease, soft at first, low, melancholy notes building to a crescendo that was John all over.

When the final notes faded away,Sherlock smiled as low applause rang through the hall. Only one pair of hands clapped. He looked up and seated mere feet away was John, smiling his crooked smile. Sherlock placed his violin down as John kissed him "That was beautiful."

**A/N Well I'm about to update this four times in a row, because why not do something productive while I procrastinated ll weekend about studying for my exams? Anyway, the first and probably only 221b fic I will ever write**


	10. Chapter 10

** Prompt 10 : Heart of gold**  
The invitation lay opened on the kitchen table, forest green calligraphy curling about the small card like vines. Sherlock had been staring at it for hours now, hadn't even noticed when John had woken up and began pattering about the flat. Of course he'd been expecting it. He received one every year. This time, however, was different.

His invitation was for Sherlock Holmes plus guest. Never in the history of this event had his invitation allowed for another person in his life. In fairness there'd never been one before John. That changed everything. Declining the invitation as he had for many years now would make it seem as if the rumours (It was common in the Holmes family to hear rumours about all members, especially with an event coming up) about his relationship were false, like he wasn't proud of John. He could see it now, the looks people would share at their expense, the mockery that would be made of himself and then of John.

He hated Mummy's Autumn ball for many reasons and being forced to go was probably the main one, closely followed by having to be nice and being made dance with various women. Mummy did have an inkling that he was gay if he was anything but still the respectable women of England would be thrust into his arms and he'd have to bite his tongue and dance with them. It was positively hateful. He was distracted from his ruminations by John's arms snaking around his from behind and the soft touch of lips to his forehead. "Morning Lock."

Sherlock smiled broadly, after protesting initially at the nickname he found he rather liked it, only John would call him Lock. "Morning John" Sherlock nuzzled into John's arms and sighed contentedly. The invitation issue would wait. "What's this then, the reason you didn't come to bed I assume?" John peered over his shoulders and read for a moment. "I've seen this before... You get one every year! I knew it looked familiar, the card and envelope, the handwriting, I remember seeing them before" John seemed rather pleased with that for some reason. "Mmmm. My mother has cordially invited us to her Autumnal ball this evening." he waited for the knock down, a rejection. "Oh. Are we going?" John asked, genuinely curious. "I don't really know. I can't decide."

John rubbed his arm gently and moved away to make tea, a solution for every problem. "Well" he called back from the kitchen "You have time to think about it right? Whatever you want to do Lock I'll do, ignore it if you want, I'll happily go with you if that's what's worrying you" John popped his head back out the door "You know that right?" Sherlock smiled wryly at him. It had been worrying him. Their relationship had only been going on for two months and four days now, and they hadn't really been out in public as a couple yet. Cases didn't count and dates were spent inside the flat or at Angelo's so in reality most people didn't have a clue that they were any closer that they'd been two months ago.

Mycroft knew obviously and by extension Mummy and a few other Holmes's but that was it. "I..." John frowned and strode over, spinning Sherlock around in his chair so they faced each other. "Just because we aren't flouncing about in the street does not mean I don't want to go places and do things with you as a couple Sherlock, I'm not ashamed of you. I understand if you are of me and if that's why you don't want to go I definitely see why..." Sherlock nearly did a double take. Why would he possibly be ashamed of John? "Of course I'm not ashamed of you John, I was just unsure as to whether you would..." he drifted off. "Whether I would say yes?" John asked softly. Sherlock nodded. "Well for the record I would say yes to almost anything you asked me provided it wasn't going to injur me, you or my sanity. My daft detective" he smiled before pressing his lips against Sherlock's. "Now, breakfast?" Sherlock nodded and John went back into the kitchen to make toast. "John? Will you go to the ball with me?" Sherlock asked as John placed a few slices of toast between them. "I'd love to Sherlock" He said and sat down grinning.

"So, tell me everything I should know about this ball" Sherlock contemplated that for a second. "The Autumn ball my mother hosts has been a Holmes family tradition for six hundred years now, give or take a few years. It takes place at the manor just as all the leaves on deciduous trees change colour. All members of the Holmes family, various gentry and successful people will have been invited and all of them but myself will usually attend. Children are also allowed to be brought to the Autumn ball, it's the most harmless of all the balls that are thrown, and some people do like to present their children to the masses. The ball starts with an hour of socializing followed by the actual dancing part of the evening." John shook his head a little and smirked "You are so upper class it's unreal" Is it an insult or...? "that's a compliment by the way, I quite like it" John winked at him and cleared the table away, wiping buttery hands on his legs. "You will have to wear a suit and tie" Sherlock added. He hated ties, they were so restricting, only useful for choking someone to death. He heard John chuckle "As long as you promise not to choke Mycroft to death in front of your family" Sherlock smirked. John knew him very well indeed.

"Fine" he sighed and strode off to the bathroom. He'd have to start getting ready. "Sherlock if you use all the hot water I swear I'll" Sherlock dropped his robe outside the bathroom door "Well if you want to conserve water we could always shower together?" John was there before Sherlock had even finished his sentence.

Running his fingers through his curls one last time, Sherlock pulled on his suit jacket. John was waiting for him by the door dressed immaculately in a charcoal suit with a black tie. They matched, but Sherlock's tie was a deep plum. "Shall we?" He asked, putting on his poshest accent. "We shall" replied John, opening taxi door. "Where to?" "12 Grimmauld place"

John had to admit the manor was beautiful, and it was filled with all manner of beautiful people too. He did feel rather out of place among them, if he wasn't mistaken Prince William and his wife were in attendance. The sheer volume of people that he had met in the past hour had been overwhelming, the only person he had yet to meet it seemed was Mrs Holmes, but sure enough she was at the top of the ballroom, microphone at her lips. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I hope you have had a pleasant evening so far. Now I believe it is time to begin our ball, if the orchestra would begin?" with that, a mellifluos sound broke out and suddenly couples were spinning all around the room.

Sherlock grimaced as his mother made a beeline for them and grabbed John's hand. "Hello mummy, this is John, John this is my mother Constance Holmes" Mrs Holmes surveyed him with piercing eyes and nodded vaguely. "Yes you'll do quite nicely. I think I might like you Dr. John Watson, after all you did convince my son to attend. Speaking of attending Sherlock you know you must dance with your aunt Isabella, she does get so offended if you don't. Come along, John will be fine I dare say" John smiled reassuringly and patted Sherlock's hand as he was dragged away.

Alone now John gravitated to the edge of the room, sitting down next to a young couple and their son. "He's adorable" John gushed at the woman "I'm John, oh look at him! How old is he?" She smiled and her husband proudly grabbed her shoulder. "Just turned three a few weeks ago. I'm Anastasia and this is my husband Edward and our son is Timothy" John tickled the small boy who burst into tinkling laughter, blonde curls bouncing happily on his head. John could see Anastasia eying the dancefloor longingly.

"This may sound a bit insane but if you two would like to dance I would happily take care of little Timothy for a few songs, I'm a doctor and everything so there's no need to worry" Anastasia's eyes lit up at the opportunity and Edward grinned, holding out his hand. "You have a heart of gold John, thank you so much" And Edward whisked her off to twirling about on the dancefloor.

John picked Timothy up and popped him on his lap, playing peek-a-boo and laughing away with him. He could feel the little boy getting tired, so he cradled him into his arms and rocked him, humming softly. The music played on, and te low hum of voices and glasses continued, but all Timothy could hear was a soft voice singing to him as he fell asleep.

Sherlock finally finished his obligation dances and was searching for John when Mummy turned his face to show him the scene at the edge of the room. Just off the dancefloor, John was pacing up and down with a little boy tucked safely in his arms. Sherlock could tell he was singing and wondered what song it was. "He's a keeper if ever I saw one" she muttered into his ear. "I know." With that Sherlock sidled over to them.

Quietly, so as not to disturb the little boy , he wrapped his arms around John's back, cradling the boy and John simultaneously. John smiled up at him and they rocked softly on the spot. Edward wiped a hand across his face and laughed, pulling Anastasia to him. It had been the best night they'd had in a long time. Anastasia cuddled close and pointed across the room to where John had been with Timothy. "Don't they look like a family?" she asked, smiling still. With Sherlock hugging John into him and John holding Timothy, both grinning madly at each other... "Yes. They truly do."


	11. Chapter 11

**Prompt 11: Tape**

**warning smut chapter**  
"I'm sorry a what?!" John yelled, nearly choking on his tea. Sherlock sighed, he did so hate repeating himself. "A sex tape John. If we want to infiltrate this company and prove that they're trafficking these women we have to have a portfolio, therefore a sex tape." John swallowed his remaining tea and rubbed his eyes in exasperation. "I understand that bit. Why, though, do we have to make one together?"

Ah. Sherlock hadn't thought of the fact that John could always get a woman to make his with, and he would be perfectly happy to. Sherlock, however, would not be able to do anything at all with anyone else. No one else "did it" for him. "Because it would be much simpler and quite frankly less time consuming, that way we can both be in the office at the same time in case of trouble, and if you want me to be blatantly honest with you I don't like the idea of doing it with someone I don't know or like." Sherlock didn't mention that it would be his first time, he didn't really have to. John knew, or could tell or something. Either way he could feel himself blushing and wanted to run away. Embarrassment was not an emotion he was particularly comfortable with at all.

John sighed and inwardly wondered if God truly hated him because only a sick minded bastard would do this, dangle Sherlock in front of him, but it wouldn't be real. None of what they did would be real, no matter how much he wished it was. He was fucked. "Okay. Right. Fine. Well then um. When are we...?" John was blushing too, great planes of crimson mapping his face. Sherlock gulped and thought about it for a few seconds "I guess tonight, we'll have to get a camera." John stayed put, eyes locked on the horizon. "Right. Will I go or do you want to?" Sherlock simply stood up and walked out, trying and failing not to think that in a few short hours he would finally be getting John, but that it was all fake.

With Sherlock gone John could finally think properly about what was going to happen. It was going to be incredibly awkward if they were kissing for the first time while making a porno. "Oh Jesus. This would only happen to us wouldn't it?" The only logical solution was to do a bit first, ease the tension between them, and then... And then.

Sherlock went to the nearest technology shop he could find and looked at thirty four different cameras. He was just barely paying attention. After all this was sort of a big issue, he had no experience and it was John, John would have been the only person he would willingly do this with for real. Except it wouldn't be real. He would have to keep reminding himself of that. In the end he bought the second one he'd looked at and walked home as it got steadily darker. When he arrived back he went straight to his room and set up the camera on a tripod before going back out to see what John was up to. In the living room John was sitting on the couch with two glasses and a full bottle of whiskey. "It might be a bit easier with a shot of this" he shrugged before patting the seat next to him.

Wordlessly Sherlock sank into the couch. John cleared his throat before pouring the drinks and handing one over. Sherlock downed his and felt the burn as it slid down his throat and watched John do the same. "Ok. I've been thinking that we probably shouldn't be doing everything in front of a camera especially for the first time, so we should probably start out here and then move to there when we're both a little more comfortable right?" John looked at Sherlock for affirmation that he wasn't alone in thinking this would be difficult enough without involving a camera from the get go. "That seems logical, what do you propose we do then?" John moved slightly closer and angled his body into Sherlock's. He put his hands softly on Sherlock's cheeks, moving their faces closer to together. "This" he whispered, closing the distance between them and planting his lips on Sherlock's. It was a shock at first but Sherlock began to move too, nipping softly at John's lower lip and running his tongue along the seam. John opened his mouth happily and Sherlock was tasting him, Tasting what John would taste like.

He gasped when John's tongue flicked across his soft pallet and swallowed a small moan when John straddled his hips, pushing their chests together. Maybe it was the liquor but all of a sudden Sherlock found himself thrusting up against John, canting his hips upwards, hoping that John could feel exactly what this was doing to him. John's low growl must have meant he could because moments later Sherlock felt John rubbing against his thigh. His usually ever working mind has blanked in favor of one thought, and it's name was John. John's mouth moved to his jaw and neck, sucking and licking, making Sherlock moan and writhe beneath him.

When he could once again form a coherent thought Sherlock managed to let out a strangled sentence. "Bedroom now" He was in the air in an instant, legs wrapped around John who's mouth returned to his as he carried him to his room. They fell on the bed and John was taking off his shoes and then his shirt and Sherlock followed suit until both were stripped bare. John was staring at Sherlock open mouthed, admiring the alabaster perfection that was his body. Sherlock had quite a view himself, he wondered how he never noticed that John still did his army workout. "Do you want to do this or..." Sherlock untangled that sentence in a few very confused seconds. John meant was he ok with what they were doing and going to do or did he want penetration. "This is perfect" John smiled and pressed back against him, licking all the way up his neck from collar bone to ear lobe.

"Good, we can do that some other time" Sherlock stared up at him. "If you'd like. I mean it's not like you have to or anything" Sherlock cut him off and rolled them over so he was on top. "I think I would like that very much" He ground his hips against John's, bathing in the groan it elicited. "Fucking hell" John moved until they were perfectly aligned and reached a hand between them. John had rather small hands, but big enough for this. Mouths still locked he began to stroke up and down, circling the slit and moving back to the base, spreading precum over both of them. Sherlock was moaning his name over and over, reveling in this new sensation that was blazing through his entire body. John's hand moved faster, both men gasping. "John I'm... I" John flicked his wrist and Sherlock was coming, spurting over John's stomach and seeing this John followed suit, shuddering against each other until they were spent and John flopped against Sherlock.

Later when Sherlock was enjoying John's hands running through his hair he came to a realisation. "John?" "Mmmm?" "We forgot to turn on the camera"


	12. Chapter 12

**Prompt 12 : "Do you remember that?" **  
John Watson had taken to a rather odd hobby. It was not like he had begun it with the intent to continue, but he found he couldn't really stop himself. John had taken to talking to Sherlock while Sherlock was asleep. There were two main reasons for it. The first being that Sherlock had an adorable little lisp that only presented itself when he was either drunk or asleep and the second being that Sherlock was at his most open while he was sleeping.

Some might say that this was taking advantage of someone at there most vulnerable, but Sherlock was at his most vulnerable while he was awake and around other people, concealing his emotions and taking their insults even though they slowly broke him. John still felt slightly guilty though, but he couldn't help but wonder how Sherlock truly felt about him. He wasn't exactly the type to say what he felt. It had started a few weeks earlier at the end of a long case.

Sherlock had all but collapsed on the spot and was out cold before John had finished speaking. It was at that point that John had opened the fridge and found the assortment of decaying fingers on a plate. He had gone to throw a blanket over Sherlock's gangly limbs and was muttering, asking if Sherlock did his experiments just to annoy him. And Sherlock had responded. "Not to annoy you... Don't want to... Get so bored... Do something wrong... Make you leave" John had been astounded and waved a hand in front of Sherlock's face but the man was truly out cold.

The second time it had happened John heard the lisp. Sherlock had almost been killed, again, and John asked him, experimentally, if he was doing it all on purpose. "That wouldn't be very thenthible... Jutht want to keep my John thafe" he muttered softly into the pillow and there and then John had decided he would marry that man. After that it became an aprés case ritual of sorts. Sherlock would fall asleep and John would talk to him until he too fell asleep. It was like a warm blanket that John could pull out when Sherlock was ignoring him or when he'd gotten himself into trouble and John was trying to find him. He knew that if awake Sherlock would despise the sentiment filled bouts so he kept them for the night, with the room so dark that the only thing John could see was the pale outline that was Sherlock. Sometimes he simply indulged himself, telling Sherlock exactly how he felt about him without fearing that Sherlock wouldn't reciprocate the sentiment, after all he only replied to questions, not statements.

Sherlock had begun looking forward to sleep rather than resenting the fact that he had to succumb to it. In his dreams John spoke to him, asking him questions and simply telling him all manner of things. It was so vivid that sometimes Sherlock was not sure if he was asleep or awake. In his dreams John would profess his love for him over and over, never once asking for the words in return.

He would whisper softly into his ear and talk of his favourite memories of them together, not just as a couple but as friends as well. Slightly disturbing was the fact that he was lisping throughout these dreams but apart from that it was a small paradise where he simply listened to John's voice and felt the love that exuded right from his pores. Tonight was no different. A while after Sherlock drifted off, John entered his mind palace, dressed in his cardigan and pyjamas, a strange combination but no matter. Sherlock felt John lay beside him as he always did in the dreams, head perched on his elbow to start before slowly making it's way to his shoulder. "I remember the first time I laid eyes on you, God it seems like eons ago. Do you remember that?" Sherlock smiled "Afghanistan or Iraq" It was John's turn to smile then, he shifted closer. "You know, even then you were undoubtedly the most attractive man I'd ever seen, still are." he chuckled softly and Sherlock waited for more.

"It was when I was pointing my gun at that cabbie's head that I realised exactly how I felt about you, my heart was pounding so hard, I thought you were going to eat that tablet. Hell you probably were, but when I thought you were in danger, the you were going to die I couldn't help but realise it. That I loved you. Even now when I don't know if you feel the same I can't deny that there's something about you that makes my entire being quiver with anticipation and lust and terror at how you can do that to me without even trying just because you're you. God you have no idea! Sherlock... If I were to ask you something, you'd tell me the truth right?" Sherlock frowned "Of courth I would John" Damn his lisp.

"Now I'm just asking as a question, but if I asked you to... If I were to erm... If I proposed to you, what would you say?" Sherlock was silent for a minute. It felt much longer. What would he say? There truly was no one else he could envision spending his life with and he didn't want John to be with anyone else, and he truly did love his blogger more than he had thought he was capable of. "I would thay yeth John, I'm thure I would." John's smile was taking up most of his face at this point and he pressed his lips against Sherlock's.

"Alright then, so if I were to hypothetically be getting a ring, what would you most want?" "It would have to be thturdy like you, nothing too fanthy, Jutht to tell people that I am yourth and you are mine" John looked pensive and then nodded. "I have a plan then, for what I'm getting you. Don't try and deduce it out of me now" John mock scolded him. "Hmmm night Lock" John sighed against his shoulder and closed his eyes. Sherlock has a rather comfortable shoulder for someone who looked so angular John thought as he snuggled closer.

He would say yes. That was a revelation in itself. Secretly John already had the ring, had it for days now, his order had been specific enough because Sherlock had such slender fingers and he wanted the ring to be special, funnily enough he had wanted the same sort of ring as Sherlock had. It was a platinum band, a millimeter or so in width. Very plain to the naked eye, sturdy enough to withstand the constant whirlwind that was their life. However on the inside of the band was the message, the true feelings behind the ring. Etched deeply into the metal were the words _Forever Yours -JW._


	13. Chapter 13

**Prompt 13: Want **

**smut-ish**

Sherlock wanted a lot of things. He wanted Mycroft to stop spying on him via cctv, wanted Lestrade to fire Anderson and Donovan preferably in front of him, wanted the criminals of London to be a bit more inventive, wanted Mrs. Hudson to accept that she was in fact his housekeeper. All of those he would sacrifice however if he could have one thing. John. It was an alien sensation for him he would admit but he definitely knew what it meant. John was perfect for him, and he was already there, living together meant he had seen him at his worst and also been there at his best.

It seemed simple enough, and Sherlock would love nothing more than to reach across the table and press their lips together, John would gasp and he'd take the advantage of his mouth being open to explore it with his tongue. Then he'd be across to the other side of the table and John would be against the wall, hips pushing against his, fighting to remove his trousers and Sherlock would smirk and snake his hand down and then John would be moaning and begging him to do more and he would oblige and they would both be naked all of a sudden and he'd push John down into the soft rug in the living room. Slowly but surely he'd loosen him up until both of them were writhing and then he'd fill John completely, making both of them want to scream with pleasure and maybe one of them would and John would beg him to go faster and he would and he'd be moaning John's name into his mouth and then John would tighten around him and the noise of his name flying from John's lips like a prayer would tip him over too and they'd lay together on the floor until they decided that maybe a bed was a better option.

It wasn't as if he had anyone to ask about what to do. Mycroft was a no go obviously, and Mrs Hudson would be too squealy for a serious conversation to take place. That left one option only and he didn't like it one bit. Molly was doing it again, watching him. She had stopped for a while, and Sherlock had hoped that it was for good but alas there she was again, lurking in the doorway. "Molly if you're coming in come in, you're wasting valuable oxygen in both rooms if you simply stand there between the two." He was feeling skittish, it seemed a bit redundant to get dating advice from someone who was always single but he was clutching at straws here. The internet had been no help, with 50/50 odds on positive outcomes. Unfortunately the blabbering woman before him was his last chance. Just perfect.

"Molly. If you keep quivering like a lost puppy you'll knock the glassware right off the-" there was a tinkling crash as sure enough the glass shattered on the floor. Sherlock hopped down and sat by the pile of shattered glass and began picking up the tiny fragments. Molly sat the opposite side and they worked together in silence for a while. "Molly? You know something of rejection, yes?" Molly grimaced and nodded, hair falling in front of her now red face. "Well then I need some information from you. Would rejection really ruin mine and John's friendship? I mean I don't want to lose it but at the same time if what all those teenagers magazines were to be believed it would affect me in some irreversible way" In hindsight he should have led with something of along the lines of "Oh yes I like John" but it was a bit late for that now, Molly was already staring open mouthed at him.

"Molly?"Molly opened her mouth and closed it again like a fish, the pieces slowly clicking together in her head. She could see it now, the way Sherlock looked at John. It was the same way she looked at him sometimes. And while personally she didn't want to say for hope that one day Sherlock would feel for her, she knew that it would be a crime to keep them apart. "You'd have nothing to worry about Sherlock. John feels the same way, trust me." Sherlock stared at her, reading her every minute movement. She wasn't lying. Interesting. Very interesting. Well now that he knew... Maybe he could see exactly how far he had to push to get John to admit it. Of course he could always just ruin it all by blurting out his thoughts. Which is exactly what he ended up doing.

It was a few days after the Molly conversation and Sherlock had not yet slept, a new case was just about to finish and he needed to be awake. That would have been fine, but the downside to sixty eight hours awake was that his already flimsy filter seemed to become entirely useless. That's how, while perched in his chair and staring at John in the kitchen in a towel Sherlock had moaned loudly. John, concerned as ever for his friend, was up almost immediately. "I'm fine John. Just thinking about buggering you into the table." If Sherlock had been less focused on two other important topics he would have registered the intense embarrassment that coursed through his blood. He was busy however with a case and he hadn't been lying when he'd said that he was thinking about buggering John into the table. The towel was not helping matters at all, neither were the small translucent beads of water rolling down his chest.

John looked just as shocked as Molly had, and a bit more embarrassed than she had been. "I'm sorry what? What did you say?" Sherlock sighed. "I said, and I know you heard me, but I'll just clarify, that I was thinking about buggering you into the kitchen table. And perhaps the floor after, maybe the counter, every surface in the flat really." He was up now and strutting over to John who was frozen at the table, tea long forgotten. Sherlock ran his finger along John's jaw line, watching as John's pupils blew wider still as he shivered into the caress. "I often think about that, us. How you would scream my name for everyone to hear, and I _would_ make you John, don't doubt that for a second" He whispered, tongue licking a long line up his neck. "I tend to get what I want John, and what I want, have wanted for a long time, is you." Sherlock was looking into John's eyes now, waiting for permission to do all he had envisioned. John tilted his head up wards and their lips met with force, each trying to experience everything at once. The tea was pushed off the table and yes the mug had been one of their last few but as Sherlock put it "No one else is going to be allowed in for a while anyway, we have to christen the whole flat!" For once a household task Sherlock would actively participate in, and _was_ he participating. John wasn't exactly sure how but his towel was long since gone and Sherlock was only wearing his shirt, but even that was open and likely to fall of any moment. Sherlock was as good as his word. He stepped on his phone a couple of times before kicking his pants under the table, where he proceeded to have sex with John.

Much to the mortification of Greg Lestrade, his number was on speed dial. He could now attest to the sexual prowess of both Sherlock and John, if the volume of their shouting was any indication. He hung up very quickly and went for a pint. It might have only been ten am, but this time he really needed one.

**A/N well I still have exams and I'm still procrastinating so have 3 more for good measure and enjoy some angst because I realised there wasn't nearly enough of that, I'm sorry in advance for those of you who hate that**


	14. Chapter 14

**prompt 14: Pretend**  
It was already dark by the time John locked the door of the surgery. Sarah had called hours earlier to ask if he would cover for her, and if he wanted to go out for drinks with her later. It was getting harder to pretend that he wasn't in love with his flatmate, but it was also getting harder to live with him knowing that nothing was going to happen. Sarah and John had been dating now for seven months, after she got used to Sherlock interrupting them every chance he got she decided to stay, try and make it work out. It really _was _working out. John would take her out and she'd take him out and they had a lot of fun together, he couldn't help but smile when she was around. There was a huge part of him that knew if he hadn't met Sherlock and had met Sarah, he would probably be married to her right now. But he had met Sherlock, and now what he was dying to have, he couldn't find in anyone else. No one had that spark, that fire in their eyes that was madly infuriating and yet so attractive that he was speechless, constantly speechless in the presence of his best friend. Most of the time he didn't know what was coming out of his mouth around Sherlock, but for an idiot he seemed to be doing pretty well just spewing words everywhere. Seemed to work.

Sherlock was an enigma, a puzzle that John would spend his entire life trying to solve. Sarah was safety and comfort, a family. And John honestly didn't know which one he wanted more. His future with Sherlock was uncertain, a myriad of narrow escapes and sprinting around London, giggling at crime scenes and writing his blog. Until one day the escape was too narrow, or there wasn't an escape at all. Maybe one day they wouldn't get away by the skin of their teeth, and one would be left all alone again. Or in a distinctly darker future of arguments and storm outs, one would come home to find the other dead by their own hands, needle plunged into pale flesh or gun tilted into an open mouth. Sherlock was a black hole, and John was terrified that he wanted to be pulled in, more so when he realised that there was no u turn if he did. He must be a masochist, staying with Sherlock this whole time, inches away from him in the flat, pressed up against him in small spaces watching criminals. He could feel it, himself dying. It was slow, so slow he would have dismissed it as nothing had it not been himself. If he knew anything at all he knew himself and what was happening was going to kill him, tear him apart limb from limb until there was nothing left but the hollow man he'd deserted after three little words in a dark morgue "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Deep down he was fully aware that this was unrequited because Sherlock could never feel anything other than perhaps a sense of camaraderie for him. They were flatmates, friends maybe, partners in crime. Nowhere on the map of their friendship did 'Miraculous realisation of love and lust for you' appear. Except on one side of the map, it had. A staggering explosion that had taken over John's map, it was the milky way of his starchart: beautiful and unattainable, you can't help but stare at it, want to know every little thing about it and have every single star shine down on you because you mean something, and even the sky needs grounding sometimes. John was no astronaut. It was time to stop wishing that he was and be content with laying in the grass and looking at the clouds with Sarah, telling her all about the stars. He went to the bar with that in mind.

Sarah was there to greet him, smiling at him as if he was the best thing she'd seen all day and couldn't wait to spend time with him. In times of extreme bitterness he wondered why Sherlock never looked at him like that, why he didn't even notice if he was gone. He took her soft hand in his and sat down with her, smiling and laughing, talking about their days and generally having a nice time. "John?" she asked, late into the night as they lay on her sofa together. "Yeah?" "What would you think about maybe moving in here?" John froze. Moving in... It was a huge step, fact but to say no would mean to end everything they'd worked for. It was time to move on with his life. He couldn't wait forever for a pipeline dream, life was never going to start again if he didn't leave, no matter how much he ached to stay. "I'd love to Sarah" John replied with a fake smile. Later when Sarah was sleeping, John allowed the few silent tears to fall. Some dreams don't come true, but that doesn't mean you have to be happy about it.

The sun rose again the next morning though John's world had stopped spinning and he got up to find Sarah dressed in overalls and a shirt. "I figured we might as well do it all today, we both have the day off so I can get here put together and you can get your stuff" John smiled and made a remark about how it was a great idea and how he couldn't wait. He wasn't even sure if he was still speaking English at this point, but he left anyway and made his way home one last time. 221 was quiet, Mrs Hudson was away with her sister again. John was pleased, he couldn't handle saying goodbye twice, especially not when he'd have to say it to Sherlock either before and then talk to Mrs Hudson in tears, or after and not be able to say anything because he was choked with guilt at leaving her to fend for herself with a madman. It was better this way.

As quietly as he could John entered 221b and packed up his suitcase, removing all evidence that he had ever lived there and avoiding waking Sherlock until he was finished and ready to face him. "Sherlock." John could feel Sherlock moving to his bedroom door, the way he froze when John said his name and then cautiously opened his door. "John what... Oh." Sherlock looked around the now bare looking flat and stared silently at the suitcases and bags at the door. "You're leaving." John nodded. "Sarah asked me to move in with her and I said I would." They were silent, eyes locked. John could feel his heart pounding in his chest, screaming that this was wrong. Just this once John decided that listening to his heart was not a good idea. He turned to pick up his bags and opened the door. Sherlock was still standing in the middle of the room just staring at him. "John! No. Wait. Just- just don't leave. Please. Don't."

John closed his eyes and prayed that there was a God who would help him because he didn't want to cry already. "I have to Sherlock. I can't do this. We both know I can't." In a flurry of robe tail and pyjama bottoms Sherlock was wrapped around him, lips crushed against his own. He had dreamed of this moment. The elusive moment where Sherlock felt the same. In his dreams they were together, grew old together, died together. In reality he knew that as soul destroying as it was to think about, this was a ploy to make him stay. He pushed Sherlock away and this time there was no way he was keeping tears in. "I can't stay. You don't feel the same, can't pretend that you do, not anymore. I love you Sherlock, always have, but I have to leave. Good-" God he was choking on it, drowning in the gravity of this one word, because it was permanent, this would mean they were never going to be together as anything. It was the splitting of a road into two that travelled in parallel but never met. And John hated it, almost more than he hated himself. "Goodbye Sherlock" and he left. Sherlock gulped again and again, standing in the doorway for hours. "I love you too John."


	15. Chapter 15

**Prompt 15: Calm**  
"Calm down Sherlock honestly you'd think you had feelings" Mycroft drawled in that infuriating manner of his, the one that made Sherlock want to simultaneously kick him in the balls and punch him in the face. Calm down. How on earth was he supposed to calm down?! He was going to die! "Funny enough Mycroft I didn't know that there was a cake around that would make you so irritable. How is that diet going?" Sherlock asked sarcastically, spinning his phone absent mindedly through his fingers. Mycroft gritted his teeth. "As unfortunate as this is for the both of us Sherlock it seems as if we will be needing each other for the foreseeable future, and I do not intend to waste my time bickering with you." Sherlock had to admit that Mycroft had a point. This was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done, not just physically but emotionally. Loathe to admit the fact that he did have emotions, Sherlock was not so dull as to think he'd be able to walk away from this unscathed. In fact he knew he wouldn't.

"Fine. I'm going to need a variety of items. Something that will cut off the circulation to my wrists, body armour-the new stuff that I know you definitely have, a gun, cash, information." Mycroft nodded. He was beginning to understand what Sherlock was going to do. Inwardly he felt guilty, pulling at his stomach lining like a vice. It was his fault that they were in this position, he was the one who had given Jim Moriarty all the information he would need to blackmail Sherlock freely. No time for that now, not when there was so much left to be done. "Where will you stay?" Mycroft could see it now in his mind's eye, an emaciated Sherlock clinging for dear life onto the worn coat around his wasted body as he squatted behind a bin. He thanked whatever higher power that was out there for Gregory Lestrade, because that was once Sherlock's reality and it was about to be so again. "Molly Hooper's for a night and then wherever I have to go. I will not return until John is safe." If I return at all Sherlock thought. He swallowed and closed his eyes, wondering if his heart could take doing this to John, wondering if John could take him doing this.

He did not have the energy left to be mad at Mycroft. It was too late for that now and his punishment was the worst Sherlock could have devised. Every single day, without fail while he was gone Mycroft would have to go to the flat and watch John. No cameras to keep him detached. He would live with what his actions had done. For once in his life Mycroft would know consequences. Sherlock wished that their was another way, that they could simply switch places and it would be Mycroft on that roof, it would be Mycroft killing criminals and destroying an empire, while he stayed with John, loved him more every day, solved cases and eventually retired at around age 92 to be a beekeeper with John. But he was not going to be that lucky.

When he looked at Mycroft there was nothing but pain and determination in his eyes, he was going to do this. Anything in the world for John. He would miss John, leaving him was like leaving a part of himself behind, like leaving his brain behind, Hell he already missed him and he still had a night with him ahead before tomorrow's big show, the finale of Sherlock Holmes. He rose to leave and Mycroft didn't stop him, but before he left he turned around, shoulders sagging, eyes rimmed red. "Mycroft. Take care of him." **He has to be here when I get back**. The subtext was louder than the actual spoken words. Somehow Mycroft had not thought that John would contemplate suicide, but now that he was it seemed increasingly likely. "He will be here Sherlock." Mycroft flopped back into his chair as Sherlock left and wondered why, though he had imagined his brother dead many times (mainly by his own hands), the sudden reality of this was making him feel like he was having a heart attack.

John was at the table, cup of tea in hand, smiling softly at a photo Mrs Hudson had sent up of him and Sherlock wrapped in a tight embrace in front of Speedy's. Sherlock's throat closed up just a little more at that. This would quite possibly be his last night with John, ever. When he kissed him it was urgent and needy, he needed to map every single inch of John's body, burn it permanently into his mind so that he could always have it with him. When they fell into bed his movements were slow and so very apologetic. He hoped John understood the sentiment as he held him even closer, running his hands through his hair and over his scar. He crushed their mouths together, tasting John and tea and baker street and home for the last time and he wanted to just bottle that taste because he was going to miss every single little dust mote in the flat and every cell of his body would scream for his John. But it was all for him, anything to keep him safe. When they were finished and boneless, Sherlock wrapped himself around the warmth that was John with all his limbs. John kissed his cheek lightly. "When you do this... I feel like you're saying goodbye." Sherlock didn't answer and John didn't say anything else, just held him tighter and pretended he didn't feel the teardrops falling in his hair.


	16. Chapter 16

**Prompt 16: Trousers**

Mycroft was getting just a slight bit out of hand now. Fine, so the case was incredibly simple to figure out but that didn't give anyone the right to force him to do anything. He had been quite enjoying himself on skype to John, sitting naked at first and watching as John's eyes had widened and sharpened and he had blushed but smiled a lot too until Lestrade began to stride over and it was the fastest Sherlock had ever put a sheet around himself. This was an ingenious idea, having John tramp about the place while he sat at home waiting until the chase. Plus this way he could really ignore the boring ones because he'd never actually go to one again. But _noooo_ Mycroft couldn't just leave them alone. **Tosser** Sherlock's mind supplied as he sat in the helicopter wearing only a sheet. The two guards that were with him had high security clearance and reeked of monarchy which had puzzled him for all of a millisecond when he realised the direction they were headed. Buckingham palace indeed. This could be very interesting.

Sherlock was escorted from the copter inside the palace and to one of the smaller lounges and then left alone having told the more shy of the two bodyguards that yes the other one did want to have sex with him and no he wasn't adverse to doing that right now. That was how he ended up on the couch wrapped into a white sheet cocoon, a suit and shoes staring at him from the table top. Suit be damned, if this was how Mycroft wanted to play this then this was how he'd play. The fact he had no choice in the matter was a big reason that Sherlock was feeling particularly contrary about this case, no matter how intrigued he was. Buy deadbolts Sherlock noted in his mind palace and then promptly scribbled it out get John to buy deadbolts for doors and windows. That was more realistic. Speaking of John if this was Mycroft's doing he should have been there by now, almost certainly comandeered as he had been. For a palace the room was not exactly warm. Sherlock could not imagine that walking around in only a robe would have been a pleasant experience living here but then again most monarchs tend to keep a few more layers than that on their person. He was bored. The pattern of the sofa was just horrific and quite frankly he was not in the mood to wait for stupid government officials to try and tell him what to do. The suit was still staring at him.

John had been unsurprised when he was taken to a helipad and flown away with two men in black at his side. Obviously Mycroft had a case for Sherlock and his penchant for kidnapping the two of them had taken a more dramatic turn. He had interrupted what could have been a_ very_ interesting skype chat once he had gotten back to the car. Bloody interfering man. John couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock was cooperating because he knew very well how he could get if he felt that he had been wronged in some way, especially by Mycroft. John was shown into Buckingham palace which was a shock and a half. It was the sight that greeted him after that which gave him a heart attack. Sherlock was seated upright on the couch for once which was good but as far as John could tell he was only wearing a thin sheet. John sat down on the other side of the couch and crossed his ankles, waiting for Sherlock to explain, but they just sat in silence for a while. "Sherlock are you wearing pants?" he asked unable to contain his curiosity. "No." Their eyes met and they burst into a fit of giggles. They chatted a bit after that, with John expressing his inexplicable urge to steal an ashtray and Sherlock laughing along with him, face crinkling up into a genuine smile. They waited a bit more and Mycroft and a liaison finally arrived.

He strode in and looked Sherlock up and down before sighing wearily. "Sherlock you're in the palace. Put your trousers on" Sherlock stiffened. "Who's my client" Mycroft sniffed "I can't disclose that information." Sherlock rose and make to leave, and Mycroft placed a foot on the back of his sheet, causing his back and torso to be exposed. That was rather awkward for everyone involved as evidence of John's presence was plastered along his next and collar bones. It was hard to decide who the hickeys were more mortifying for, but John had his vote on himself. The look Mycroft gave him was one he wouldn't soon forget, there was genuine surprise in his expression and revulsion when he read all about their exploits in Sherlock's body. He attempted to ignore it and so did Sherlock. "Who. Is. My. Client" he growled, holding the sheet tightly around his waist. While he was fine with walking away nude he didn't want to leave if this was a good one, better to know first. John sighed as the brothers bickered. The sooner he could get out of here the better. " Boys. Not here." John interjected and Mycroft stepped away, straightening his suit. Sherlock made the decision to put his on. Irene Addler. Oh this would be a good one.


	17. Chapter 17

**Prompt 17: Chain**

He was standing out on the balcony alone, wishing he could leave and he'd only been at the party for half an hour. There were so many people there with secrets and betrayal plastered across their very shirt sleeves that his brain was on auto drive, and he wanted to focus a bit more. His experiment was going rather well, it seemed his conclusion that social situations are conducive to excessive alcohol consumption had been correct as he himself had definitely consumed more than he should have. Right now though he really really wanted a cigarette. No sooner had he thought this did a slightly older blonde man stroll out with a cigarette clenched between his fingers. He was 26 to Sherlock's 23 , studied medicine in the same college as Sherlock was himself studying. He came from a poor enough family and had been studying to support them by joining the army. That was interesting. The room was spinning a bit too much for him to get any more information.

The blonde was by his side all of a sudden, elbows leaning heavily on the railing as he looked out across the London skyline. Sherlock did not know what was expected of him in the situation so he turned to watch the city too. "I'm going to miss it. Definitely." Sherlock looked down at his face and nodded. Shipping out in two days time, this party was for the man next to him, a last hurrah in case he didn't return. "I should say you would. Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock was surprised to find his mouth moving of it's own accord . Must be the alcohol he deemed before waiting for a response from the shocked man beside him. "How do you know that?" Sherlock sighed. "Give me your phone for a moment." Strangely, the man did as he was asked. A phone was dropped into Sherlock's outstretched palm. Deftly after years of playing violin he swirled his fingers across the keys, typing out a message to his client. When he was finished he replaced the phone into the other man's pocket and began. "Afghanistan or Iraq because you have a military stance about you, controlled and well postured. The chain around your neck is attached to the dogtags you just acquired when you received your duty notice last month. You're a careful man who would do anything to help those in need but also an adrenaline junkie who is waiting for the next high. You're sentimental because you can't afford not to be and not as well off as others assume you would be, which explains the phone from your brother the divorcing alcoholic. It was gift that you would otherwise not have accepted but it gives you a way to contact him and make sure he is okay when you're gone. This party is in fact for you as a going away of sorts as in two days you will be leaving for either Afghanistan or Iraq." He let the last word fade slowly out and waited for the inevitable insults that were sure to follow.

"That was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant" Sherlock shook his head to clear his ears but he had heard right, this man had said he was brilliant. Something in his stomach was very warm all of a sudden and he smiled at the other man. "That's not what people usually say." The other looked at him with puzzlement in his face "What do they usually say?" Sherlock grinned, the first true smile he'd given in years "Piss off." The army man laughed loudly at that, the chuckling noise adding to the growing warmth in his stomach. "You were right, the army,the orders, the party , the phone, my divorcing alcoholic sister though. Harry is my sister" Sherlock cursed a bit under his breath "There's always something! Sister of course!" The other man just smiled and shrugged "I'm still very very impressed. Iraq, by the way." He said, once again facing out to admire the city. Sherlock could definitely understand that sentiment. London was the only place on Earth he wanted to be, it's packed streets and big Ben were staples of his existence and he didn't like to think that he would ever be away from them too long. He did love London. "I'm John by the way, John Watson." Sherlock rolled the name about in his mouth. John Watson. "Sherlock Holmes." He extended his hand and stared as John took it, the feeling of their palms touching sending millions of electric shocks up his arm and all over his body. John removed his hand and Sherlock had the urge to take it back within his own, rub his thumb across the knuckles and then... But he didn't. Instead he stepped closer and John leaned into him so their bodies were resting against one another.

John pulled out a lighter and lit his cigarette, placing the stick between his lips. Sherlock had almost forgotten that he had one. His lungs burned with want, but there was no box in his pockets, just the single cylinder in his mouth. John caught Sherlock staring at the glowing cigarette and inhaled deeply. He pulled it from his lips and moved closer to Sherlock until there was almost no space between them. Gently he tilted Sherlock' down to his own and when their lips were less than a hairs breadth apart he breathed out long tendrils of smoke directly into Sherlock's mouth. It had been unexpected, but Sherlock was burning,the fire that had begun in his stomach had seared it's way to his heart and it was beating with the fervor of a steam train now that John was so close to him. He inhaled the smoke and puffed it back out into the night as John inhaled again, this time smiling and then pressing his lips to Sherlock's before allowing the smoke to trickle out and into Sherlock's mouth. The nicotine went straight to his veins and Sherlock felt more alert than he had for a while now. John did not pull their lips apart. If anything he moved closer, and Sherlock could not help but respond, placing a hand on his lower back and pressing him into his body as they kissed. His mouth was already open and the addition of John's tongue was a very pleasant experience.

The party had died down a few hours ago, with only Sherlock and John, still entwined on the balcony, awake to see the sun as it rose. John's kisses were softer now, and Sherlock knew why. He had to go, pack his things and fly across the world to a warzone from which he may nother return. His stomach felt as if it had fallen out of his body. It was ridiculous he knew, they had only just met after all, but he felt about John as he had never felt about anyone else. He didn't want to lose him. John leaned his head on Sherlock's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his torso. "If I had met you a year ago... I don't think I would be leaving right now" he murmured into his shirt. "I wish you weren't leaving." Sherlock said honestly, because he did. He did wish that John didn't have to go, that he could stay and they could see what this was, what it could be. John reached across and pulled out his phone, shoving it into Sherlock's hands. "Put your number in, and your address. If I can't see you at least I can talk to you right?" He sounded hopeful, he was entirely serious. He wanted to hear from Sherlock. "Of course, I would like that, if we could keep in contact while you're gone. When do you get leave?" John laughed "Haven't even left yet and you're looking for leave! After nine months probably and then again in a year after that, then another six months and my tour is over" That was over two years. Sherlock nodded.

"If you don't want to keep this up I understand, two years is a long time." Sherlock scoffed. "I don't think you understand John, I have waited twenty three years for someone like you to come along and now that you have I don't think I will be able to let you go. If you're worried that there'll be someone else, their won't because there is no other you." John kissed him again, and when they broke away breathless he looked at his watch. "You still have the day here. Do you want to just go out together until you have to go?" John beamed and kissed him again "Oh God yes."


	18. Chapter 18

**Prompt 18: Ladder**

"Come on, it's not like you have a better idea, is it?" Greg scoffed from his seat on the floor of 221b. Sherlock scowled. He had forgotten this visit would be taking place at all. It was John's fault in the first place for being so... Social. A week earlier Sherlock had just finished solving a small case and when Lestrade had asked John to the pub, he had assumed, wrongly, that John would refuse on account of both their tiredness. John had however accepted happily and simply kissed Sherlock goodbye at the door of the station and pottered off with Lestrade. Neither of them even noticed the black car that was lurking in the side alley as they walked jovially together.

Mycroft had not thought that Gregory would be so keen to stay away, but it seemed like he was trying to avoid him by taking John out. When the two men were out of sight he asked the driver to roll up to Sherlock, who's expression of discontent mirrored his own. It was a rare occurrence that they were in agreement about anything, but on this they could not be more in step. It had been a week, a full week since Mycroft had seen more than five minutes of Greg face to face and he was in need of some quality time and a good shag. While Sherlock had physically been around John almost 24/7 he hadn't really been around him, it was work and very much separate from their relationship, he was tired and John helped him sleep and made him tea, plus he was delightfully warm and decidedly comfortable to sleep on, he had a way of wrapping his arms around Sherlock when they were in bed that was very agreeable. They could conspire a thousand ways to keep them apart but in the end that would just backfire horrifically. "It's fine that they're friendly, but I am not enjoying their spending so much time together." Mycroft would have berated his brother for being so clingy, if he hadn't felt the same way of course. "Indeed. There has to be an alternative." So the two smartest men in London sat down and thought about it.

Greg sipped his pint and rubbed his eyes. "When did pubs get so loud? I must be getting old" he complained over the ever present hum of voices. John shrugged and sighed. While he was eager enough to spend time with Greg, on days like today he wanted the comfort of his own home and some peace. "It would be nice to have some quiet and just relax without having to worry about" he was cut off by the simultaneous buzzing of their phones. Greg scoffed. "Mycroft." John eyed his and sighed "I'll give you two guesses who texted me" Greg shook his head and laughed dryly, taking another swig of his beer. "Go on so, what does yours want?" John cleared his throat **"John, when are you coming home? Need your laptop. And tea. We may need milk. SH** Clearly he wants me home, what about yours?" Greg smirked. "I have returned home **Gregory and am awaiting your arrival in the bedroom. Do hurry, I am not a patient man MH." **John chuckled quietly to himself.

"Direct as ever Mycroft. You'd think they were needy girlfriends the way they - wait. Greg dyou think they might be? Needy, that is, definitely not girls." That was a thought. "If that's why they keep trying to make us stay home I swear I'll shoot something. How difficult is it to say Oh yeah hey listen I would rather you were with me because lets face it you're _so_ fantastic that I can't seem to get enough of you?" Greg mocked the posh Holmes accent for effect and John quickly found himself wiping tears of laughter from his cheeks."If that's the issue I might have an idea, why don't you just bring Mycroft with you to the flat next time and we can have our beers in peace and keep the two of them close by at the same time." Seemed like a rational enough idea at the time, so they shook hands on it and split up, eager to return to their wonderfully clingy partners.

John hung up his coat and found a sulky Sherlock on the couch, but his expression brightened considerably when John arrived. John smiled right back at him and crawled up the couch, peppering the exposed areas of skin with light touches of his lips before taking up residence at the pale expanse of his neck. "Anything to say?" Sherlock groaned, this was one surefire way that John used to make him confess his thoughts. "M-missed you, always miss you when you're not with me." John added tender sucking motions. "Want you all to myself, always." John extricated himself briefly "Sherlock Greg is my friend and I like spending time with him, need to if we want to stay as close as we are. But, that has no bearing on the fact that it's you that I love to be with, you that I love coming home to, you that I love seeing every moment of every day, you that I love watching, listening to, feeling, tasting, you that I love full stop. So don't think for a second that one night a week changes any of that, because it doesn't and never will. I know you don't want to be far so I told Greg to come over here next time, that way I can be with you and have a beer with my mate okay?" Sherlock nodded shyly and John closed the distance between their faces, kissing him languidly. "Alright then. From now on just tell me, we could have solved this much sooner if you had. As you frequently remind me I am a bit of an idiot so give me a hand yeah?" Sherlock smirked "Less of an idiot than most John, you got there in the end. Perhaps your deductions are improving. Try me now." John attempted to focus on the fine points of deduction but gave up after a while. "You want to go to bed because you're exhausted and want to be perky in the morning because we will be having a very good time I should think." "Very good John, your_ guesses_ were entirely correct."

That brief conversation only returned to Sherlock after John opened the door to reveal Lestrade and Mycroft to his dismay.

"Come on, it's not like you have a better idea, is it?" Greg asked from his seat on the floor. When no one responded he pulled the dusty box from it's shelf and blew the motes from the lid."Snakes and ladders it is then, unless cluedo-" "NO!" John yelled slowly making his way back from the kitchen with tea and coffee. "Not cluedo. Never cluedo" Greg looked perturbed between Sherlock and John. "John has only played that game with me once and he was not satisfied with my crime, just because I didn't follow the paltry cards." Sherlock pouted and Mycroft laughed. "How was he to know?" Sherlock looked incredulously at them all, They seemed to be with John on this. "We were the only two playing, one person creates a crime the other solves it based on the missing cards among those that remain. I gave John all the cards. None were missing therefore the crime was committed by someone else. Obviously." Mycroft smiled at that and leaned into Greg who patted his hand. John gravitate to the floor as the board was set up and soon Sherlock had his head in his lap. "Quick question. Does anybody want to play snakes and ladders or can we go somewhere fun like the shooting range at the station?" Greg asked. "I don't hate you right now Lestrade." Sherlock called, and quieter into John's ear "You are very attractive with a smoking gun in your hand." They all scrambled up and out the door, leaving snakes and ladders forgotten on the floor.


	19. Chapter 19

**Prompt 18: "What do you want this time?" **

**A/n (before the fic? *Gasp*) Im going to do an AU - soulmate!verse just to try it on for size. I know exactly nothing about doing properly AU so sorry for the shambles that this will probably be**

In the olden days, people had denounced love at first sight as impossible, because for them it was. It took thousands of years of evolution and documenting to reveal the truth of that phrase. It was all in the eyes. There was no real telling signs, colour had a little to do with it but seeing as there were only a certain number of eye colours you could be that helped very little. Sites were set up, showing only pictures of someone's eyes. If they were your soulmate you would know instantly and have to find them, no matter what. As the realisation that eyes were the key to finding the perfect match for you, people made eye contact with almost everyone around them, just in case. It did happen like that too, people would walk down the road and suddenly their soulmate would just be there. John Watson had seen it happen many times. For a while he had searched, just like everyone else, but eventually he gave up, joined the army, protected the bonds people had made with his life against people who wished to destroy them. After all, if one half of a pairing dies the other might as well be because there is only one person made for you, and once they are gone you will truly be alone, a shell of what you used to be, the mark of your soulmate branding you forever.

That's not to say you _had_ to marry your soulmate, because some people didn't. They didn't have the time to be looking for someone they may never find, wanted happiness now, and even if it wasn't the perfect happiness they were supposed to experience they just didn't care. John Watson was one of those people. At this stage he had pretty much given up any hope he had of finding perfection, he had decided to settle after he was shot and sent home. At least he would have somebody.

Sherlock Holmes had been brought up to avoid eye contact with anyone who hadn't found their soulmate, for fear that he might inadvertently find his own. It was difficult enough, in his line of work especially, but he could not afford the risk a person joined to him would bring. Also he found people in general infuriatingly dull and rather dim to boot, having one of their altogether normal eyes tattooed on his skin was an affronting thought. He did not have friends and he did not want any, a soulmate would bring an abrupt end to that. He was fine on his own. He told himself that every night he spent alone and awake in the darkness.

The morgue of St. Barts hospital was a refuge of sorts, the only live person down there was Molly and he had discovered long ago that they were not soulmates, no matter how badly she wished they were. Many people wished they were his soulmate once they saw his eyes. They were color filled, bright blue and green with flecks of gold and orange scattered through them. It was a brand anyone would be proud to wear due to it's rarity. He was in the morgue with Molly when Mike had arrived down for a brief chat. "Hello Sherlock! How's the flat search going?" Sherlock looked up from his riding crop "Nothing yet suitable, well, nothing yet suitable within my price range." He lashed at the corpse again, the sharp crack resonating through their teeth. "You should get a flatmate" Mike offered, genuine. "No one would ever want me as a flatmate." Sherlock returned to striking the corpse with renewed vigour and Mike left after that, shaking his head.

John woke up yelling once again and rubbed his eyes. Another day. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered, everything was so dull and lifeless that he might as well be too. He stared at his blog for a while and then went out, deciding that fresh air was the best way forward. On his way through the park he crashed into Mike, who smiled strangely at him and dragged him to . "Sherlock Holmes meet John Watson." John could see that Sherlock was beautiful, his hair dark and curled, pale skin, angular cheekbones. He noticed that no matter what he did not lock eyes with him, averting his gaze to every other part of him bar his face. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" those three words had him hooked and when Sherlock gave him an address for a flat they could share, he didn't think twice about it. Of course he'd go.

Sherlock wheeled about the room at pace until he paused at the window and grinned before schooling his features into nonchalance. "How many?" he asked the moment the door opened revealing a panting police officer. "Four. You coming?" "I'll follow behind you" as soon as the man had left Sherlock was jumping in the air, raving about what fun it would be as John sat on the armchair. He was gone in a whirl and John was left with Mrs Hudson. For about a minute he believed Sherlock had gone, right up until he returned. Two nights of detective work passed, with chases through London, meeting arch enemies, texting murders and then a drugs bust all eye contactless. Routine apparently, but Sherlock disappeared into the night before the police did and John, strangely, was worried. When they did finally leave and Sherlock had not yet returned he decided to go to find him, when the gps tracker beeped. He knew what to do, tucking his gun into his pocket. The taxi ride was tense, he felt a loyalty so strong to this man that he'd only met three days previously, they were friends, partners. It was exciting and dangerous and he was not keen to lose his friend. The building was split in two and John got the feeling that he would only have the chance to enter one if Sherlock was in danger before it would be too late. So he chose.

Sherlock clinked the pill bottle off the table and made to leave, but the cabbie chided him, goaded him. He opened the bottle and so did the cabbie. Just as he pressed the pill to his lips a shot rang out, crumpling the cabbie to the floor. The shooter had disappeared. John had picked the wrong building, he saw Sherlock across the way through two windows, bringing a pill to his face. John didn't even think about it, simply aimed and fired. Sherlock was in trouble, and John was not going to let anything happen to him. He ducked and crawled away, not wanting to get spotted. Through police arrived before too long and he waited calmly behind the tape, hands clasped behind his back. Sherlock scowled at the detective inspector from his seat in the ambulance and John could see the cogs turning in his head as he rattled off deductions about the shooter. When Sherlock looked at his feet however he stopped talking altogether and leaped up, leaving a bewildered Lestrade in his wake.

John waited patiently at the tape and when Sherlock reached him and began to giggle he couldn't help himself but join in. When he did Sherlock's eyes flew to his in surprise and there was a burning sensation in his hand, and his chest. In fact his whole body was warm and full and relaxed. "Oh." Sherlock said, staring at the new ice blue eye on his hand. "Wow." John said, looking into the intoxicating eyes of his soulmate. They were only millimeters apart, and the electricity between them was a tangible force, a magnetic field that ran from one to the other. John could feel his body being pulled inexplicably closer to Sherlock's. Sherlock gulped as their foreheads met. All of a sudden Sherlock felt the urge to be so much closer, and thank John for killing for him "That...what you did there... it was... I... It was good. Thank you" Sherlock whispered as their mouths collided. John's hand found his and the sweet fire in his veins grew with every moment they were together.

There was a soft cough from behind them and Sherlock growled. "What do you want this time Mycroft?" Mycroft smirked "Nothing brother, just thought I would properly introduce myself yo your soulmate Dr. Watson. Although I'm sure he remembers our first meeting." John looked between them, and shook his head. He should have known Sherlock would consider his brother to be his arch enemy. "Is that it?" Sherlock asked and Mycroft nodded, slinking away towards the crime scene. "Let's go home" John smiled, and they got a cab, hand in hand. Mycroft headed over to Greg as they walked off, giving him a quick peck before looking back at the two figures as they disappeared. "Their eyes match very well don't you think? Both just a little out of the ordinary. Like you and I." he smirked and Greg laughed. "Sherlock will hate that, love at first sight, a perfect match, so cliché." The thought had crossed Sherlock's mind, but he brushed it aside. It was John. Of course it was perfect.

**A/n that's right, a second a/n Well that happened... Bit jumpy bit who has time to write an hour and a halfs worth of stuff into an AU oneshot? Not me!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Prompt 20: Prize**  
Sherlock sat stoic on the opposite side of a small table to Jim Moriarty. They had both been dead for a few years now, but this was to be their penultimate meeting. Sherlock had spent every waking minute on the trail of every single person who could be involved with Moriarty. Each of them had posed a new threat, but after three years of traveling and hiding and killing, he was finished, save one. In truth Sherlock had known after the roof that Jim had faked it too, he had chosen to ignore that particular fact in favour of chasing down any helping hands. If he didn't have the man power Moriarty was nothing special, he wouldn't be one to get his hands dirty directly. Yet here they were, yet again, together on the roof of hospital. "Fitting, isn't it? You know I like to make a performance out of it all! We have so much history here, don't you agree Sherly?" Jim pursed his lips and leaned forward on his elbows, putting his chin in his hands. "Awfully quiet aren't we? How about a video to get you more vocal hm? I made this one myself, watch it every night before bed" He pulled out a laptop and tilted the screen so both men could watch. "Are you ready? Oh it's so good!"

The screen faded into white and then John was on the small screen, and the slide show began. Photos of their first date, and John smiling and laughing and their first kiss and him staring admiringly up at Sherlock as he deduced at a scene, the slides catalogued most all their time together, and

Sherlock remembered every instance that was frozen on screen, he had pulled them out in his head when he missed John. The next photo was of the fall, and John's face as he watched Sherlock topple over, John being taken home by Mycroft and Lestrade, both in absolute silence, The look of fury and hatred in his eyes as he punched Mycroft in the face. Then it was just John. Lying on the ground of their flat, tears pooling and trickling down his face, him falling asleep with Sherlock's robe clutched in his hands, Sitting in his armchair staring at his hands. "Wait wait wait, my FAVOURITE parts are coming up!" Moriarty chimed gleefully. Sherlock, whose stomach was already threatening to empty itself with guilt and pain and want, dropped entirely. Out of the pocket of the coat he had worn the day of the fall, John produced a velvet box. The next photo was of him sitting at the table, opening it. Inside, a thin band of silver peered out of a cushion bed, and then it was gone, stowed away into John's pocket again as he grabbed his cane and limped out. The final few frames showed John at Sherlock's grave, shivering in the rain. He half smiled before leaving the box at the foot of the stone that marked where he was supposed to be lying. The screen faded once more into black. "Wasn't that just touching? Your pet was very fond of you it seems! We would be sooooo much better together, all that sentimentality was hilarious don't you think?" Confident that Jim couldn't see his face, Sherlock closed his eyes. John had wanted to marry him, was going to ask him if he would stay forever.

"You'd never believe some of the great stuff I got from his therapy sessions honestly it's pure gold!" Sherlock was silent. He didn't want to hear this. "I'll play you some shall I, needn't tell you who's who, it's very clear. Session Twenty seven, He finally decides to speak to that mad woman." 'It's my fault you know' 'what's your fault?' 'That he's dead. I was..' 'You were?' 'I was smothering him I suppose, he couldn't wait to get away, and must've thought that killing himself was the best way. He could have told me he didn't love me. At least he would still be alive.'" Moriarty howled with laughter and wiped his eyes "There's more! Session eighty six, finally admits his feelings!" 'I loved the poor bastard, God I lived in constant awe of him and I loved him more for every insane thing he did... I was going to propose, see? I got it engraved too - Could be dangerous. You won't get that but... He would have.' 'It can be therapeutic to talk to the headstone of loved ones and tell them everything you would have told that person when they were alive. Perhaps you could write out what you would say? Bring it to our next session?' 'I might have to postpone it a bit, it'll be longer than the lord of the rings.' A light click signified the end off that recording.

"You see Sherlock, we play our game of chess, and one of us gets the prize, because the winner gets to take everything" Moriarty called, fiddling with the recording a bit more until he found his place. "For the grand finale, Session ninety four, John reads out his love letter!" 'Dear Sherlock, if you were listening you'd probably mock this, especially because Ella is involved, you were never her biggest fan. She said this might help me, to get over you, feel better or something. I don't believe that much, but I want to tell you a lot, and if this somehow reaches you well it'll be worth the pain of writing this. Because it was painful. I wish that I had told you when you were here, I love you Sherlock Holmes, and I always did. You brought me back to life, saved me in a way I couldn't save you. You said not to make people into heroes, but to me you will always be a hero, because you worked so hard to save everyone and solve it all... The day you jumped was the worst day of my life, and I have had my share of bad days, but nothing could have affected me more than losing you. You were the most human human I have ever known, and no one can ever convince me that you told me a lie. Even though you maybe didn't feel the same, I would have married you Sherlock, because I wanted to be yours until the day I die, still do. I punched Mycroft in the face for us both, I think I did a good job, his face swelled quite nicely. It's funny the things I've grown to miss. The 2am violin, constant texts, biohazards in the fridge, body parts in the food if there was any... Your voice, the swish of your coat, your curls, the small smiles you saved just for me, I even miss how bloody annoying you were. I can say for certain that I don't think I could have asked for a better friend, because you were the best friend I've ever had and I am so grateful that we met. You made me who I always wanted to be, and I can never thank you enough for giving me everything that you did, because to me, you were everything. Love, now and forever, Your John." The recording ended with a soft whir and Sherlock was trembling. You were everything.

"So you see Sherlock, I know I'm going to win, I always do. The question is, what I do with my prize? He'd make a fine pet for me. But you know how I love games...We can settle this easily. Guns on the table." Moriarty dropped his revolver on the table, and Sherlock followed suit, pulling his own gun out and placing it down. "Now switch them and roll the bullets... That's it. Now put it to your head." Sherlock smirked. "Russian roulette." Jim's smile glittered "That's right Sherly, well done!" The barrel of the gun rested snugly against both of their temples. "Pull on three!" Sherlock closed his eyes. "One." The safety clicked off, and Sherlock copied. "Two" His fingers curled around the trigger. "Three" a shot exploded through the air and Jim slumped onto the table, blood spattered across Sherlock. He opened his eyes to find a similarly bloodied John standing alone, smoking browning in his outstretched hands. He smiled tearily at Sherlock,and pulled out the velvet box, back from the grave "I'm nobody's prize."


	21. Chapter 21

**Prompt 21: Weak at the knees**  
**A/N Dabbling in texting fic because why not have one of everything on the menu seeing as there's 50 of these!Also I was asked to make the last prompt into a full fic and I think I will, so I'll let you guys know when that happens**

John? -Sh

Yeah Sherlock? Kind of in the middle of something here -J

Oh Please. Your response time indicates extreme boredom, not to mention the fact that I already told you before you went to work that it would be inconceivabley boring. You insisted on going however, but even though you are bored of elderly patients sometimes you still afford them your full attention, so I know you are not actually busy because if you were I would not get a response -SH

You're very annoying, have I told you that before? -J

Indeed. You enjoy it though- SH

Enjoy isn't the adjective I would use to describe it -J

Well I thought love was a bit strong but if you insist -SH

If you couldn't tell I rolled my eyes just there. What was it that you wanted Sherlock? -J

Oh. Yes. That. Well... I seem to have made a small miscalculation in my latest experiment -SH

But you promised you'd try not to set the flat on fire for the new year! -J

The flat is not on fire John, Even I can't make this experiment flammable accidentally.-SH

Thank God for that, I swear you'll give Mrs Hudson a heart attack one of these days, the amount of times she's come home to smoke pouring out of the flat is ridiculous -J

She does worry so -SH

You'd think you had a thing for the firemen -J

I do not!

Oooh Sherlock Holmes! You have a thing for firemen! You didn't even sign your initials

at the end of that - J

Shut up. -SH

Touchy touchy! If it's not fire then what is it? -J

I was experimenting with blood sugar levels on ones ability to function, as you know my dietary habits are less than what most would consider to be normal and by extension so is my blood sugar but I have been taking pills to lower it even further ( for the case John!) and I may be in trouble -SH

Bloody hell Sherlock! Symptoms? -J

I am quite literally weak at the knees, (although you may be somewhat to blame for that) Nausea, dizziness. Regular symptoms of low blood sugar or orthostatic hypotension. -SH

It was your idea, and you didn't complain last night Right, where are you? -J

On the floor of the sitting room. I was in my mind palace and when I attempted to get up I lost consciousness. I have tried repeatedly but the results have been the same -SH

I'm almost finished up here, I'll leave now. What do you want for dinner, and trust me Sherlock you're having dinner. And jellybeans- J

Jellybeans John? I am not a child. I'll eat whatever you put in front of me at this point. Can you get some copper sulfate while you're out? -SH

Fastest acting sugar on the market is found in jellybeans Sherlock, plus they're delicious! Where am I meant to get copper sulfate at this hour?- J

Fair point. Tomorrow then. -SH

I'm in Tesco, you sure there's nothing else you want? -J

You -SH

Well I'm on my way up now, be there soon. -J

Thank you John -SH

No problem Sherlock- J


	22. Chapter 22

**Prompt 22: Alive**

**Smut warning**

Three years exactly. It had been one thousand and ninety five days, each one both blurring into the next in an endless stream of the mundane and lasting for what felt like decades. Sherlock Holmes was a dead man walking, quite literally, while John Watson was simply a man who may as well have been dead who walked anyway. After day one - because suddenly dates and times no longer had meaning aside from when they occurred in regards to the fall - John could no longer call 221b his home, because the one thing that had made it so was now gone. He had moved back to the bedsit against the wishes of one Mrs Hudson who attempted to convince him that staying was the best option, but concluded that he was always welcome to go back and promising not to move anything unless it was in danger of decomposition. She had cried when he left. He had'nt, there were no tears spare, he was saving them for the night, when he could once again see the man he loved in all his glory. People always said that the first day of anything is the most difficult, because it's new and terrifying. This was not the case for John. The worst day was the first anniversary, when he realised he had an eternity of days like this before him, and he would be facing them alone.

It felt wrong that the earth was still turning, the sun still shone, people were born and smiling and happy, life kept going even though his whole world had stopped. People would not remain sympathetic forever, this much he knew, so he got up every morning and went to work at the clinic, made mindless small talk, smiled and laughed in all the right places because he was fine, declining offers of drinks and dinner and coffee and chats from Molly and Lestrade in favour of Harry who knew exactly what was going on. He'd work and do the shopping and go back to his flat and stare at the telly and go to bed, trying fruitlessly to sleep for more than an hour at a time. He'd lost more than he'd care to admit at St Barts, yet the annual pilgrimage continued on the anniversary regardless of his personal hatred of the place.

Sherlock was exhausted. The past three years of his life after death had been a whirlwind of travel and espionage, dark nights and hiding places. He had not been in London since that last day, but there were few places he hadn't been. Every continent had hosted his cold fury and brutal determination, case after case solved in a nonstop reel, until the only things left keeping him standing were the puzzle and John. He had a new name amongst the criminal underworld for a time, Angel of death they called him. He had managed not to kill anyone personally, but once they were in custody he was not responsible for what happened to them. All he did was find, incriminate, drug and drag to the authorities. No names, no face to face meetings, just a knock on the door and an unconscious person on the ground with a large file of evidence strapped to their chest. He had come to be grateful for his foresight as without the help of the homeless network worldwide he would have died, or relapsed long ago. Their kindness to him was greater than people would find anywhere else, and he would not be quick to forget that. He wandered down the Thames, glad that people were so utterly ordinary and unobservant for if they were not, they would have seen a corpse returned from the grave. Against his better judgement he had kept the curls, John had liked them and he could just about see, even now, his calloused hands running through them. With the ultimate defeat of Moran it was time to go home. He had one final stop to make before he could see John again, and he was not exactly looking forward to it, but then again he never had.

He took out his lock pick and jimmied the window of Mycroft's Diogenes office open. Sitting in his chair, facing the window, Sherlock couldn't help but remember the last time he'd been in an office. At least this time the man he was expecting might be even slightly pleased to see him. Eventually the door opened and Mycroft strode in, phone pressed to his ear. "No, military action would frankly be a show of weakness that we cannot afford to ma-" he stuttered, eyes widening as he took in the sight of his dead brother in his chair. "ke. Call Jamal, ask him for the fifth list. He'll understand. Good day." Sherlock waited. "Brother." Mycroft flinched slightly at the term, he had not been called that for a good few years, it sounded unfamiliar to him now. "Sherlock.

I take it there's an explanation? Or is suicide another phase of yours?" He instilled all the venom he could spare into his words, because for once in his life Mycroft was not going to pretend everything was ok. "Moriarty. 3 snipers trained on those closest to me: Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and John. It was my life or theirs, and he shot himself so I had no way of stopping their death but to jump. I saw most of it coming, and prepared accordingly. Some well positioned overhangs,homeless men on bikes, blood from myself distributed by more homeless. Even you know how to conceal a pulse. Molly Hooper simply opened the back door and let me leave. I travelled the world, taking down Moriarty's web one strand at a time and I finished just yesterday. Now I'm back." Mycroft sat down, poured himself a drink. "Do you have any concept of... And the Hooper girl of all people I mean... Humpf." Sherlock arched a brow, this was not like Mycroft at all, but he remained silent because there was definitely a point to all the ramblings.

"There are two things about this whole scenario I cannot seem to wrap my head around. The first being that you did not ask for my assistance because quite frankly you would have finished much faster if you had and the second, foolish though it is, is that you couldn't spare the time to let John Watson know you were alive, because he is not, not really. Hasn't been since your little stunt actually. Left Baker street, holed up for three weeks, reappeared a grey little man with nothing to lose and nothing to take. Introverted, only meets his sister, whom he detests, because her wife, a Clara Oswald, died soon after you in childbirth and they can empathise with each other. I cannot say I possess any strong feelings in favour of Dr Watson, but even I am left with nothing when I try to figure out how on Earth you would do this to him. Keeping him safe is an excuse that worked for maybe a year. He has been safe for at least two. You know it, I know it. That begs the question why you hid yourself for so long, if not for fear of how he would react? Ah. So that's it then." Mycroft sipped his whiskey. Was he pleased to see Sherlock? Of course. The guilt of feeding Moriarty the information that led to his death had been consuming him and now that Sherlock was alive he could let that go. At least it was something. Sherlock bowed his head. "Fear. How very plebeian of me I know. It was not a choice I wanted to face and in ignoring it, I chose to leave John in the dark. It is not something I am proud of Mycroft." A snort caused him to look up and he suddenly found himself buried in a three piece suit with Mycroft's arms around him. They had not hugged since infancy. Sherlock wrapped his arms around Mycroft in return, feeling as soothed as he had the last time they had hugged, which was when he was three. "I am glad that you're back Sherlock. It was quite dull on my cctv without you around. Now go to John, he's in that awful bedsit on bakers walk. I wouldn't worry too much, he is still smitten with you." An awkward pat on the back and Sherlock was up and running out the door and down the road because he was Sherlock Holmes and he refused to be afraid.

He only slowed when the door of John's room got in his way. He could hear him, pottering about inside, the distinct sounds of a kettle boiling and a tea spoon clinking off a mug reinforcing the fact that this was real. Subtlety was probably the best approach and so he knocked sharply on the door. "Go away please, I'm not interested" "John?" Mug clattered to the floor. "Sherlock?" "Open the door John. Please." Two quick steps and suddenly door swung open, revealing one to the other. Seconds, an eternity, passed between them, growing and writhing in their unbroken gaze. "John I-" Sherlock was cut off abruptly by John, who flew at him and pressed their lips together, like Sherlock was the only thing he needed to breathe. Sherlock pulled John to him and ran his hands up and down his body, once again mapping it. "I don't know" John whispered between kisses "whether to kick you into next week" his mouth ravaged Sherlock's "Or have a mental breakdown because you're alive." Lips and tongue traced his jaw and followed it down to his neck. "I can explain it all John I - oh" John held a finger to his lips. "Tomorrow you will be telling me everything about all of this and I will see if you deserve a good kicking or not. Right now though, I need to see all of you. I missed you so much Sherlock, And I'm going to show you exactly how much if you close the door." Sherlock pulled the door shut and waited, watching John smile deviously. "Strip and get on the bed" Sherlock did as he was told, not ashamed of the new scars he had accrued over the years. He planted himself on John's bed and looked up for his next instruction. "Good, now put your hands over your head, just like that, okay, I'm going to cuff them up there, and now your legs exactly!" He didn't bother asking why exactly John had these handcuffs but it was probably above board.

When Sherlock was trussed up and could barely move, John evened the field and got undressed too, slithering against his body to reach his ear and savouring the small gasp of surprised pleasure that ensued. "I missed your life more than I wanted my own when I got shot you know." Say nothing, Sherlock knew how this worked. John grinned and slid back down to Sherlock's legs, gently circling a finger around his entrance before pushing in with two. With uncanny precision he crooked his fingers and brushed his prostate, cancelling out the hint of pain with sparks of pleasure, over and over until he was leaking over both of them and desperate for friction of any kind, wishing he could stroke himself just so there'd be some relief. "Please John ugh please" John withdrew his hand and lifted Sherlock's hips "I always love it when you're polite" he grunted, sliding into him gently at first, giving him time to adjust to this sensation again. As soon as he could feel that he was ready, John thrust hard into him, fast and rough, taking him apart. All he could do was moan and writhe and try to move in rhythm with John. Precum ran down his thighs and made them both slightly stickier than they already were, he watched John's face, emotions flying across it, changing every passing moment . He was already close. "John! I'm oh God" Sherlock closed his eyes and prepared for the onslaught that this declaration used to incur, but it didn't come. He was left feeling empty as John pulled out of him and he opened his eyes, incredibly confused. His face was an image of every emotion under the sun as he leaned back on his knees and clambered off the bed. "You know how you miss the feeling of me inside of you right now? Amplify that by about two million and you have how much I missed you, you utter bastard. I can't believe you did that! Not a single word, or sign, not even a whisper! It's a good thing" John whispered, turning back around "That I am not as cruel to you as you are to me." Slowly he unlocked the cuffs and lay on the bed, kissing Sherlock softly while he finished both of them off with a few strokes. They were pressed chest to chest, Sherlock resting his head on John's. "I am so glad you're alive Sherlock." Sherlock planted a kiss on his head. "So am I John, so am I."

**A/N that just got way longer then I had anticipated it would be... Over compensating for the shortness of the last chapter? A little. Alive is such a broad prompt though I mean come on a lot has to happen! I was going to let John just leave Sherlock hanging for a while there but then I thought it was a bit too ooc. Almost half way through!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Promtp 23: Ring**

**A/N I don't even know... We haven't seen any Anderson or Donovan so I just... Deal with it. Also decided Anderson is called Jim cuz why the hell not**

"Alright Sally?" Jim slipped his phone back into his pocket and sat down at the smallest table in the lunch room of New Scotland Yard. "Did you get the texts?" Sally asked, smirking into her chips. "Yeah, sounded pretty urgent but you don't seem busy..." he looked around as if to make sure that she was in fact not busy, and Sally once again found herself agreeing with the freak's proclamation that he was a complete dunder head. "I was busy at the time and so were you. It was a crime scene Jim, we both worked on it until the Freak and his lap dog arrived?" Realisation dawned on him and he nodded, slyly pinching one of her chips. "Alright alright I'm not a total dim wit Sally, what about it?" Eyes darting around the packed room, Sally beckoned him in closer, leaning in until their bodies created a shielded circle. "Well, the freak was rushing about, spewing his voodoo crap while little lap dog was chatting to Greg in the corner right?" Anderson nodded, eyes wide, riveted already. If Sally Donovan knew one thing it was gossip and judging by her excitement this was good stuff. "Ok so he's leaning over for a while, examining the body and complaining when he does that thing where he jumps and runs away screaming something random about gardeners or colours or whatever. Lap dog trots loyal at his heels and that should be that. You know we all keep dusting for prints yada yada yada and it's all normal stuff. This time though, I was the only one left at the scene and when the freak jumped up, something fell out of his pocket.""What was it?!" images of human fingers and bloody knives ran through his head, but nothing prepared him for the shock he got when Sally placed it on the table. "A ring box. The freak was carrying a ring box. Haven't opened it yet, thought I'd wait for you" Sally batted her lashes a bit and shimmied closer still, hiding the box from view. "You gem Sally Donovan! You do the honours." Nervously, fingers tingling, she prized open the box and looked inside. "Well fuck me. He's going to propose?!"

Greg walked in at that moment and took in the intimate sight of his agents. While he was against meddling, he couldn't abide by cheating because he had been on the receiving end of a cheater and it was not something he would wish on anyone. He remembered that as he sat awkwardly next to Donovan who pulled away from Anderson sharpish, turning a bright shade of pink and casually depositing something in her pocket. "How soon can you have the paperwork from the case of the blue - I mean the Kent murders ?" Lestrade looked between them, waiting for an adequate response. "I'm just finishing up my report actually, should be finished by this evening." Donovan responded, avoiding the judgmental gaze of her boss. "Good, on my desk as soon as you're done. Anderson?" Jim reached into his bag and drew a manila folder from within. "Have to wait for the official autopsy report still but apart from that everything is in there." Cheek of him, Sally thought. The only reason her report wasn't finished while his was came down to an empty office last night. He worked on his report, she worked on him. Life could be so unfair. "Thanks. Lunch is almost over, we should probably go." He gave them both a look and waited until they scurried off to leave himself. Later, while he sat idly in his car, he wondered what it was that Sally had shoved in her pocket so hastily.

The last of the lights in the yard were switched off and all the employees gone home. Standing alone in her bathroom, staring at her reflection, Sally opened the black ring box again. She asked herself if she truly believed that she would ever experience that moment when you realise the person you love is about to ask you to marry them. The honest answer, right now at least, was no. Her tryst with Jim wouldn't end in a proposal, it was one of the few topics he was vocal about. He was adamant that his proposal was the worst mistake of his life, one he would never make again. There were two reasons for that: his feelings towards marriage in general and his cowardice. He was not going to divorce his wife for Sally and they both knew it, even if he said that Sally was the one he preferred of the two. Sally couldn't help but feel empty at the thought that her relationship was a complete secret, and would be until the whole thing crashed and burned around her. The ring glinted at her, mocking her.

Anderson was in a similar position a few miles away. With his wife waiting for him in bed, he stood at the sink under the pretence that he had to brush his teeth. He couldn't help but think of the ring from earlier, and all the connotations that came with it. He knew well that the freak cared about no one, never had. Even his brother was treated to venomous glares and harsh insults. Yet there was a silver ring, nestled in a small pillow that said otherwise. Jim had noticed it, the way they looked at each other, like nothing else in the world mattered. He'd watched them jump in front of bullets for one another, battle criminals that threatened either of them, even fake death to save the other. The freak cared about only one person, and he was going to proclaim it to everyone by asking the lapdog to marry him. He twirled his own ring nervously. Had he ever felt that way about his wife? The short answer was no. He wished that he did, that he could honestly say that she was his whole reason for breathing, but he couldn't. He envied the devotion Sherlock and John had, there had never and would never be anyone else for Sherlock, and John, well he had given his heart to the detective by the time he and Jim had first met. They were enraptured by each other, perfectly suited. Why couldn't he have that? From Sherlock, that ring meant forever, friends, partners, lovers, husbands, only John. But from him... Had it meant anything at all? Long after most of London was asleep Anderson and Donovan lay awake, imaging the proposal of the man they called freak to the soldier they called lapdog and found that jealousy and a strange sense of goodwill were the main emotions this brought.

The next morning, standing by some new police tape, Sally waited for the inevitable arrival of Sherlock and John. As much as she disliked the man, she was not going to begrudge him his happiness by ruining his surprise. The only way to avoid that was to separate him from John and return the box quickly. After thoroughly explaining this plan to Jim, she waited in her usual spot for them to arrive. The cab pulled up and out swept Sherlock as dramatically as ever with John hot on his tails. Sally never thought that she would be thankful for a double homicide but it was exactly what she needed to make this work. While Sherlock swooped over the body in the bedroom, Anderson led John down to the kitchen to examine that one. As soon as they were gone she strode up to Sherlock. "Congratulations... I think..." She said holding out her palm with the box sitting on it. Relief washed across Sherlock's face. "It was gone when I went back for it yesterday. Thought someone had stolen it but apparently not." Sally listened carefully for any footsteps but heard none "I'd put it away now fr-Sherlock, don't want to ruin the whole surprise" His brow furrowed when she corrected herself, and he cracked a small smirk. "Almost did that myself, asked him to get my phone out of my pocket without thinking and very nearly panicked, but it was fine because it was gone. Then I had to panic for a different reason." He chuckled and Sally giggled too, pondering how they usually acted so caustic towards each other and trying to remember why it had become that way. His deductions were harsh yes, and quite rude, but they were truthful and in this moment of camaraderie between them Sally Donovan resolved to repair, to some extent the relationship she'd never had with Sherlock Holmes. "Good luck anyway, I've a feeling he'll be very happy with you." She smiled widely at him and he looked quite taken aback. "Thank you Sally, I do hope he will."

No sooner had he stowed the ring in his pocket(The opposite one to where he kept his phone) did John appear, and then Sherlock was flying around as he usually did, ending up bolting out the door with John by his side. "What was going on there?" John asked when they were in the taxi again. "Sergeant Donovan wanted to wish us well in our relationship. I believe that she has realised exactly how intolerable she is and wishes to rectify that. She even used my name. It was rather surprising." John smiled slightly "Good, because the next time she called you a freak I was going to break my rule about punching women." Sherlock laughed and gave him a quick peck. "One of the many reasons I love you John. Always willing to break the rules for me." He smiled, fingers curling around the box in his pocket. Tonight.

**A/N I feel like I'm trying to include all the characters that I can just so there's variety! Don't want anyone getting bored :L Also I posted that fic based on chapter 20 :Prize, it's called Alive and it'd be cool if you guys would check it out**


	24. Chapter 24

**Spy**  
**Kind of a part II-ish for the last one, dealing with the proposal itself as requested, sorry it took forever, had 2 scenarios to make for this and my other fic and I wanted them to be different so yeah.**

It was a minor miracle that Sherlock had managed to do anything in secret so far, buying the ring had been more like breaking into a bank vault than shopping for jewellery. It wouldn't have been so difficult if Mycroft didn't try to keep such a close eye on him. He, stupidly, neglected to consider the reality that if Sherlock really didn't want to be found then he wouldn't be. In the past few weeks he had noticed the number of Mycroft's spies trying to pin down his location had tripled. Not only that but he had very nearly lost the ring in question earlier on in the day.

While he had hoped to come clean that night, it seemed as if that was an impossibility at this point. He was exhausted, having taken a beating from the charming man responsible for a double homicide and run a good twelve miles on no nourishment what so ever. But then again, John was there with him in the back of the ambulance, fussing as he always did. Sherlock had run straight into the man, colliding with him after sprinting through an alleyway as a shortcut, which, he made sure to mention, it was. He had fallen back and the perp had laid into him for only a minute before John had knocked him away with a harsh blow to the head. If Sherlock remembered correctly he may have blabbered to John that he was his hero... in front of would make for some very humiliating conversation later on.

He was thankfully back to full cognitive function by now and had scathingly refused the offer of a shock blanket and a trip to the hospital. A few cuts and bruises, superficial wounds were all he was afflicted with and he was not in any mood to deal with a gang of doctors prodding at him all night. "I'm fine. We're leaving! Come on John we can walk home from here." Sherlock leapt up and out of the offending vehicle and John half smiled at him, utterly exasperated but happy. "Alright Sherlock, but we have to report to Lestrade first" John gave him the look, the _I-am-serious-don't-even-try-and-argue_ look and Sherlock pouted but rushed over to Lestrade and began talking at a mile a minute. John snorted and the paramedic bandaging his hand looked at Sherlock who was lamenting the stupidity of London's finest to Lestrade.

"Are you and him? None of my business but..." he trailed off, wrapping the bandage around again. John looked over at Sherlock and his eyes softened. "Yeah he's mine, best friends and everything." The medical smiled at him and took a pin between his teeth. "So go on. Gush a little, you're dying to, I can tell!" They laughed together and John blushed. "We met through a friend, I was just back from Afghanistan after getting shot and was looking for a place to stay, a roommate. Mike introduced me to Sherlock in a morgue and he borrowed my phone, then asked me whether I'd been in Afghanistan or Iraq"The medic gaped. "Just like that? Had that Mike told him about it or?" John grinned proudly "Nope. He told me my whole life story just like that, knew everything about me from how I looked, held myself, scratch marks on my phone. He asked me to move in with him there and then, and the next day I did. The next few days were a bit different then what I was expecting, He brought me to a crime scene with him, I was kidnapped by his brother who tried to bribe me for information about him- I refused, I texted a murderer, told him what my last words were when I got shot, witnessed a surprise drug bust. That was all _before_ he figured out who the murderer was and then left with him, without telling anyone. I used the gps on a phone to track him down, saved his life and then we laughed about it on the way home." John watched as Sherlock put his head in his hands, knowing that Lestrade had just made him spell everything out for him and yet still didn't understand. The medic was obviously impressed, he hadn't had to deal with Sherlock properly so he hadn't had the chance to see how he acted with anyone but John. "Well that's one way to start a relationship anyway." he laughed and stepped back "You're all done, Your knuckles should heal in a few days anyway so just be careful not to punch anyone until then." John shrugged and thanked the man before walking over to join Sherlock.

"Ready to go?" Sherlock glared at Lestrade acidly "I've been ready for twenty minutes now, yet somehow Lestrade's stupidity has amplified since yesterday as he can't seem to comprehend a single word I'm saying. We're going now Lestrade, call us once you decide to find whatever wits you lost." Sherlock wheeled around and John shrugged apologetically, before he could open his mouth Sherlock was calling for him. "Sherlock" he raised his eyebrows disapprovingly at him, waiting for the explanation. "He asked me if you had hit him with a blunt instrument John. Twice. He could not wrap his tiny brain around the fact that you inflict much more damage when my safety is at stake. He's an idiot normally but that was just too much." John could see his point of view and accepted that it was actually more reasonable than usual. "Well that's ok I guess" he smiled and pecked Sherlock lightly on the lips before taking his hand. Sherlock smirked at him "Feel like a run Dr Watson?" John laughed openly "Always Mr Holmes" and Sherlock sprinted off, John speeding along beside him, running through alleys answer sidestreets and one underground station, only stopping, breathless and satisfied when the door to 221b closed. They fell back against the wall together, laughing loudly.

When they sobered up, adrenaline was still running through their veins and Sherlock's heart was racing. John was giving him the post-case look of pure admiration and suddenly he knew that it was time to do it. He peeled himself off the wall and simultaneously pinned John to it. "John" he whispered, voice dropped to a low rumbling bass that reverberated through both of them. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the box. "John" he said again, watching as John's eyes widened and his breathing hitched. "Sherlock?" John couldn't breathe, this was happening. "Oh my God" he whispered as Sherlock dropped to one knee. "Apparently this is how it's done traditionally. I'm not one for tradition but this seemed like something to... John. You know how much you mean to me, and in case you don't the answer is everything. I didn't think I'd ever have a friend, much less a partner, a best friend and a lover all rolled into one, so I never thought that I would want to get married. But then you came along with all your silly jumpers and your crooked smile, and before you even knew me you killed a man to save me. Then I realise that I love you and you decide that you want me too, of all people you choose me, love me, and all of a sudden I can't wait for the whole world to know that you are mine and I am yours, for as long as you'll have me. John Watson will you marry me?" Sherlock threw the box on the ground and held up the ring, a silver band with two diamonds set into it, and he held his breath. John grabbed him and pulled him up gruffly, smashing their lips together and pushing his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, holding back a chuckle at the yelp of surprise turned groan that he swallowed. When they broke apart John took his face in his hands and kissed him again, much more gently. "Of course I'll marry you Sherlock." he croaked and they beamed at each other as Sherlock slid the ring onto his finger.

Later, when they were sweaty and panting in bed, thoroughly debauched, Sherlock turned and looked at John very seriously. "We should probably discuss this now. Do you want children? And yes I know we'd need a different set of genitalia to achieve that but the question stands, do you?" John furrowed his brow. "I don't know Sherlock, maybe. I could live happily without them." Sherlock smiled to himself at John's utter selflessness. He had skirted very well around saying that he wanted them, but if Sherlock didn't he was ok with that. "Plus" John added, shuffling closer "The only person I'd want them with is you and seeing as that's physically impossible... what about you?" Sherlock smirked. "Maybe. I don't think I'd make a good father though, and there is no one I would want them with but you so I suppose that's a no go." At that precise moment Sherlock's phone buzzed. He scoffed and John tilted his head.

"Our favourite little spy" John chuckled. "Go on then, what does he have to say" Sherlock cleared his throat and read aloud. **"Congratulations brother, I knew we would be expecting a happy announcement eventually. If the only issue is that you would have to involve a third party to conceive, My contacts have made an advancement in this area that may interest you. Think of it as a genetic code combination but between two male cells instead of one of each. It's available to you, should you wish to avail of it. Gregory also sends his good wishes -MH" **They lay against each other in silence for a few seconds. "If you're in..." Sherlock said nervously. John rolled into his chest "I'm in. Let's do it. And for the record, you'll be a great father"


	25. Chapter 25

**Prompt 25: Guarantee**  
**A/N Halfway! It's utterly insane that so many of you are still here with me 25 chapters later and I just want to thank you all for everything! I'm trying an AU (in which Sherlock is a guitar player and frontman of a band) teen!lock and song fic this time so that's new. I was thinking that I will leave the prompt for the next chapter at the end and then you guys (my lovely readers) can recommend what you want to see happen eg. What character, an AU, Drunk!John anything you can think of and I'll do it. Enough chatter though and on to the fic!**

Sherlock was tired, exhausted in fact. It wasn't surprising, he was always tired these days, he was playing a different venue every night, travelling the world, and trying desperately not to fall for the band's resident medic. It was tiring stuff for anyone, especially a teenager. Every night he had thousands of girls and guys screaming their adoration at him, singing along to his own low voice and crying as he crooned softly to them while strumming the guitar. That was the dream for most musicians, and it was fantastic until he had to actually talk to his fans. He couldn't stand people, they were so incredibly boring. Most of the time he stayed in his room, composed and people watched through the window of the tourbus or whatever hotel they stayed in. As a general rule he avoided spending any time outside of rehearsals and sound checks with the other members of the band. It was easier that way, stepping on people's toes was something that came naturally to him but quite frankly he didn't have the patience to find new members and therefore he couldn't piss the current ones off.

As for the medic well... He was a different story all together. His name was John and he was ex military, something that Sherlock's manager/brother Mycroft had decided was a bonus when he hired him. It was the only action he had undertaken Sherlock was remotely grateful for,the hiring of John Watson. The first time they met Sherlock had been feeling petulant, he didn't need a nursemaid and he wanted him gone, and the fastest way to make him go would be to deduce him. So he did, spouting about his injury in the war, psychosematic limp, his relationship with his family, financial security, everything he could see down to the last blow about his alcoholic brother. And when he was finished he waited for the yelling, sputtering, anger in general. John had stared open mouthed at him for a few moments and then broke the silence. "That, was brilliant. Truly amazing." Sherlock was completely shocked and his eyes flew to John's face, he was genuinely amazed. Sherlock smirked and began walking off "That's not what people usually say" John was at his side once more "What do they usually say?" Sherlock grinned emphatically "Piss off" and that was the first time he made John smile.

He began looking forward to crashing into him backstage during shows, catching sidelong glances of John mouthing along to his songs from the sidelines as he sang them. After a few weeks he asked John to hang out with him in his room, they had become closer over time and the bus was empty anyway, they were heading out to London and seeing as the rest of the guys had family there they left earlier to stay with them. John accepted his invitation to ride with him in an instant, flashing one of his signature smiles. Sherlock knew that he was failing miserably in his efforts to deny any feelings he had for John, he couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly that made him feel anything at all for him except the fact that he was _John_. Of course he couldn't just outright say anything, John might not even be gay and that would be awkward for them both. He sighed and flopped back onto the bed, fingers picking idly at his guitar. A soft melody began to flow from his fingertips and he quickly picked up a notepad and scribbled down the chords, humming along while thinking up lyrics.

There was a soft knock on the door and he knew it was John. "Come in" he called, still writing furiously. John tiptoed inside and smiled down at Sherlock's sprawled form. "What are you up to then Sherlock?" he asked jovially, settling into a chair. Sherlock looked up for a moment and half smiled tiredly "Writing..." he trailed off, staring intensely at John and then going back to his page. John looked at him with concern, he sounded so serious and it seemed like John should be the same. "Well can I hear what you have so far?" John asked nervously, wondering if he was overstepping. Sherlock froze for a moment and then sat up so his legs were against John's. He didn't move away. God if John only knew how many mornings he had spent in this exact position, wondering if there was any point in hoping at all, constantly hurting himself just by watching John have a life outside of him. It hurt, God did it hurt "You were the one who inspired it so..." Sherlock muttered gently to himself before clearing his throat and righting the instrument on his lap. Softly he began to sing "**Ooooooh here I go again, walking the line, killing time between my sins, Ooooooh why do I come here? The endings still the same I'm bringing back old tears, I act like I don't knoooow, where this road will gooooo, Pour me something stronger, pour me something straight, all these crooked voices make them go away, I can barely stand up, I can hardly breathe, pour me something stronger than me, pour me something stronger than me"** Sherlock's voice was smooth and melodic, but the lyrics were saturated with pain and loss and every time his eyes would rise to meet John's he'd feel his heartbeat in his mouth. Without knowing it they had shuffled closer, Sherlock now sat between John's legs on the edge of the bed and John's hand was on his leg, holding him. He sang on **"Pour me something stronger, pour me something dark, pour it up so high, till I can't feel my heart, I can barely stand up, I can hardly breathe, pour me something stronger than me, hmmmmmmmmmm"** He strummed the final bar and fell into silence. "Sherlock that was... Beautiful." John said quietly into the silence between them.

Sherlock smiled sadly and shrugged. "Do you play?" he asked, knowing the answer, he'd seen it in the shredded tips of his fingers but wanting to expel the heavy silence crashing on them. John held out a hand and Sherlock passed the guitar over, taking in their intimate position with a blush. "What should I play?" John asked, hoping for a specific song but knowing Sherlock he wouldn't get that. "Play a song that makes you think of someone you know" Sherlock decided after contemplating the request for a second. John nodded and swallowed his fear because he was going to play a song that reminded him of Sherlock, or rather what he wished he could say without feeling like an idiot and being rejected because that was what would happen in the end. "I can't guarantee this will be any good but here goes" John took a deep breath and Sherlock stared unabashed at him as he began to sing. **"I've gone for too long living like I'm not alive, so I'm gonna start over tonight, beginning with you and I, when this memory fades I'm gonna make sure it's replaced with chances taken, hope embraced, and have I told you, I'm not going, cuz I've been waiting for a miracle and I'm not leaving, I won't let you, let you give up on a miracle, cuz it might save you...**" John sang on and on, getting progressively more confident, staring into Sherlock's eyes by the time he came to the final part of the song **"It's not faith if you use your eyes,if you use your eyes, oh if you use your eyes" **he trailed off and they sat staring at each other again, wondering if the songs had been about them, hoping the songs were about them. John cleared his throat and his tongue flicked out across his lower lip, and it was all that Sherlock could look at. He shook his head to clear the rest of the images that brought with it and decided to be brave.

"Who was it about?" he asked watching as the slow creep of pink coloured John's cheeks. He coughed a little and looked away before responding "You" he said softly "Was what you wrote..." he didn't have to say it. "Yes." Sherlock answered. John shuffled a bit and smirked. "Sherlock?" "Yes?" And he leaned into his face, tongue across Sherlock's lip instead and Sherlock opened his mouth, giving John all the permission he was asking for, and groaning into his mouth as his hands wrapped possessively around his back and neck, pushing their bodies together. In minutes later he had a lap full of John and his neck was being licked and sucked by him while he moaned wantonly into the empty bus. "I -ughhh- take it this means we're -oh- together?" John slid back up to his lips and surged into him "If that's what you want" Sherlock smirked and nodded, allowing John to go back to ravaging his mouth.

In later years, Every time that they had something they couldn't express in words they would meet back there, in the bus, and sing to each other, and when the band split up they took the armchair and the bed with them to their apartment. Sometimes when the other couldn't sleep they would sing softly into their ear and watch as they relaxed into their arms again, and when, many years later, there was only one of them left, having sung him to sleep for the final time, Sherlock sang to John's headstone every night, knowing that somewhere out there, John was singing too.

*****Song one that Sherlock sings is "_Something stronger than me"_ from _Nashville _  
Song two that John sings is "_Miracle_" by_ paramore_ and the next prompt is **"Help"**


	26. Chapter 26

**Prompt 26: Help**

Snow was falling in small flakes, covering the streets of London in a veil of pristine white, frosting each building like icing sugar. The sense of community that suddenly appeared with this strange weather was fitting for the festive season. Suddenly the people of London were sticking together, offering help to those in need of it, calmly waiting for traffic to ease up, smiling at each other in the streets. They were, at least for now, a community united by cold fronts and Christmas spirit. It was hard to deny this feeling of camaraderie that had sprung up from nothing. It was simply there, as constant as air. Too long had passed since the people of London thought about the well being of their fellow Londoners and it was refreshing. Didn't stop the criminal world, but everyone else was more aware of those who suffered at their hands at least. Sherlock was pretty pleased with the setup, any witness that was interrogated was more forthcoming in their response than ever, allowing for cases to be solved more efficiently. The faster a case was over the faster he could take John home and snuggle up in front of the fire together.

He was there currently, lying back against the couch in what John had labelled his 'Thinking pose' he had pointed out that he thought all the time, a statement that John had eagerly disproved that evening. None the less he lay there staring out into the bustling street below and smiling at the sound of John returning from his venture downstairs. John clutched a large box in his arms and set in down heavily on the table. "Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock queried, though it could only be her doing. "Mrs Hudson." John replied shaking his head fondly. "She did it again." he added, knowing that Sherlock would get his meaning. "I still don't see why she invites everyone over for Christmas eve. It's not as if they don't have somewhere they'd rather be" Sherlock scoffed, remembering last year, and the debacle with Molly that had made even him cringe but there was no deleting it, he couldn't. John was as much a part of the memory as Molly was and try though he might John memories were immovable. John snorted fondly and Sherlock knew he was remembering it too. "The girl was throwing herself at you and you were completely oblivious until that last moment." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I told you, it's not my area. Women especially. If they aren't explicitly saying something to me, I dismiss it. Then again I dismiss it anyway." He leaned forward on the balls of his feet and then sat back down, paying closer attention to the proceedings taking place around him.

John was stringing lights along the wall, surrounding the window and then attempting to climb over Sherlock to hang them on the wall behind the couch. John flicked his eyes down to Sherlock who's face was unfortunately positioned between his legs, and he was staring right at his crotch. "Not helping Sherlock" John called down as he strung the lights along. "What's not helping? I'm supposed to _help_?" Sherlock retorted, making a cage around John's legs with his arms in case he toppled over. "Having your face in my crotch that's what's not helping and yes actually you could lend a hand with this decorating lark, after all you _are_ taller" John grinned and hopped down off the couch, admiring his handiwork as he took a turn about the room. Sherlock pursed his lips minutely, the last thing he wanted was to encourage others to intrude on them that evening. She'd even invited Mycroft along. Mycroft. It was one thing to invite people who he had any semblance of liking for, but Mycroft was the one person out of the group - himself, John, Mrs Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, Angelo and apparently Mycroft - that he did not think he could even pretend to like. "Come on, there's more in the box" John smiled softly at him and began to adorn a small tree with various baubles, multicoloured reflective surfaces bouncing hues of purple and gold across his face, and Sherlock got up.

Mrs Hudson was the first to arrive, mainly because she had food and needed extra hands to cart it from one apartment to the other. John swiped a gingerbread man when she wasn't looking and winked conspiratorially at Sherlock from behind her back, making him smirk as he continued to hang various decorations. 221b was filled with a cozy glow of warm light from the fire and the strings of twinkling lights around the room by the time everyone else arrived. "Alright John?" Greg smiled as he grabbed a glass of mulled wine. "Alright Greg. How's things?" John smiled warmly. "Good actually yeah, the new place is nice, good neighbourhood." Lestrade gave a half smile and swigged back the rest of the liquid in his glass, nodding at Sherlock who was clearly making a painful effort not to snap at Molly while she chatted at him and had resorted to throwing back drinks. "He's well... He's Sherlock. Pray he doesn't get the urge to cuddle because while the man is surprisingly closed when sober, drunken Sherlock is an indiscriminate hugger. He made me assist him in his experiment. Trust me. I know." The pair chuckled away in the corner of the room, chatting for a few hours about everything from football to cases. When John heard the faint sounds of footsteps on the stairs he made a beeline for Sherlock in the kitchen. Sherlock was lounging against the table on his elbows, a bright smile etched on his face that had even Mrs Hudson giggling as she and Molly spoke quietly to each other, sneaking glances at Angelo, who was talking to Lestrade, every few seconds. Mycroft knocked once before entering, eyes sweeping the apartment. "Apologies, I was delayed" he smirked and swung his umbrella, sidling into the kitchen to grab some of Mrs Hudson's truly phenomenal Christmas cake.

While John had been prepared for a huff of some sort at his brother's arrival, Sherlock merely giggled and hiccuped slightly, gesturing to John to lean in as he had something to say. John, ever obliging and undeniably curious, leaned his ear down to Sherlock's mouth. Still giggling he whispered into the offered ear, hot breath blowing against it. "Guess what John? *_hiccup_* I know something you don't" John raised his brow "You always do Sherlock" Sherlock shook his head "No no no no, this is good, you'll want to know this." John smiled accommodatingly at his partner and leaned closer, until they were cheek to cheek "Alright then tell me" he muttered and Sherlock smiled, he could feel it. "Lestrade, and Mycroft, have" a most immasculine giggle erupted from Sherlock "they_ fancy_ each other, but Mycroft thinks Lestrade is straight and Lestrade thinks Mycroft wouldn't be interested in him in a million years! Mycroft has fancied him for years, and now Lestrade is looking for an opportunity to let him know that he wants to snog him every time he sees him" John gaped at him, wondering if either man knew how oddly similar to John and Sherlock they were. "Seriously!?" Sherlock nodded vigorously. "Also Mrs Hudson has taken a liking to Angelo and Molly was recently asked on a date by detective inspector Dimmock." John moved back and turned to watch the friends they had invited (they hadn't invited anyone) as they interacted and tried to be a bit more observant. There by the window was Mycroft, staring rather openly at Lestrade as he laughed with Molly and dragged her over to talk to him, cheeks just minutely flushing as he shook Mycroft's hand. Beside them almost were Angelo and Mrs Hudson, wrapped deeply in conversation about cooking.

John grinned slyly "Well at least I know what we're getting them for Christmas" Sherlock took on a look of confusion. "What on earth do you mean John?" John looked from one man to the other and smirked "We're getting them each other!" Sherlock rolled his eyes and seemed to have sobered considerably. "I am all for that John honestly, anything to make them as happy as I am with you. He may be my arch enemy but I do not begrudge him, them, any happiness they could find together, but how, exactly, do you plan on doing that?" he said seriously. John just tapped his nose and pointed to the doorframe. "Mistletoe." Sherlock smiled proudly at his doctor and kissed him softly, the briefest flutter of lips, before motioning him to take charge of the plan. John whipped out his phone and tested Greg.

**Greg don't look surprised, or at me, but Sherlock and I have a plan to get you your Christmas present-J**

**John what are you on about? -G **

**Mycroft? -J **

**How did you - Sherlock of course. If he can see it how can his brother not?! Or maybe he does and is sparing me a very awkward conversation. Still don't get what that has to do with anything -G**

**Oh don't worry, he feels the same, has done for years according to Sherlock, anyway we're going to help get you together- J**

**He has? And how? Clearly we haven't been having much luck on our own though...-G **

**You two will be the last to leave, Sherlock says so anyway, and hopefully you'll have mustered your courage by then because you'regoing to need it -J **

**For what?- G**

**For the Mistletoe carefully hung by Sherlock at the door -J **

**Oh Jesus... Don't think I can do it mate, most people don't check everywhere they go for secret mistletoe -G **

**Don't worry, he'll know it's there, see we'll walk you down together, I'll snog Sherlock under the mistletoe which he will ****_breathlessly_**** point out afterward, Mycroft will look up, you'll look up, then he'll look at you and you'll look at him and that is where all that courage will have to come in. -J**

**Oh my God... You really have planned this out... Right... I suppose I have been waiting long enough... -G**

**Exactly. Plus I'll be there for moral support, it'll be fine and we'll see you both on new years eve as well anyway so there's that back up plan -J**

**Right well we can talk out loud you know so -G **

John grinned and showed the conversation to Sherlock who snorted as he read it "_Breathlessly_ John? Really?" John gave a predatory smile. "Breathlessly Sherlock." Sherlock gulped.

Their guests began to filter out, First Angelo and Mrs Hudson, going down to her flat for tea and a recipe exchange (Sherlock had joked tipsily to John that recipes were not all they were going to exchange, John had slapped him lightly on the arm and prayed he meant phone numbers.), then Molly soon after them, after realising that it was already nearing one in the morning. Greg and Mycroft were talking amiably in the corner and only looked up when John shut the door behind Molly. Mycroft pulled out his pocket watch and sighed "I had best be off, Mummy will be expecting your call tomorrow Sherlock if you are still not attending dinner." Greg put his glass down and looked at his own watch, making it very difficult for John to avoid smirking. "I should go too, crime stops for no holiday" he joked and Mycroft smiled to himself. "We'll walk you out" Sherlock offered and took John's hand as they lead the other men down the steps. When they reached the door Sherlock made to open it but John wheeled him around and claimed his mouth, it was the only word for it. He rolled his tongue against Sherlock's own and held his face gently in his hands. When he broke away Sherlock truly was breathless. Blinking somewhat he allowed John to pull him to the side and open the door for the two flushed men behind them. Sherlock looked up "Ah." he exclaimed breathlessly "Mistletoe."

As expected Mycroft looked up, followed by Lestrade who looked down first and at Mycroft's outstretched neck. Mycroft looked across at Lestrade who was already looking at him. Greg took a step forward into Mycroft's personal space, giving him the chance to refuse. Mycroft stood frozen to the spot, eyes wide and back pressed up against the doorframe. In a rush of heady adrenaline because Mycroft was not moving away, if anything he was inviting Greg to make his move, he strode forward and grabbed his tie, pulling their faces together before hesitating for just a moment and then pressing his lips to Mycroft's own with a passion he had kept to himself for too long. Mycroft melted against him, a small groan into Lestrade's mouth conveying his sense of triumph, want, and Sherlock was positive it was the word finally. He and John had been keeping their eyes on each other fastidiously, very pleased that their plan had worked. When they eventually did look back, Mycroft had wrapped his arms around Greg's waist and clutched him against his body. Sherlock coughed and Greg stepped back and Mycroft ran a hand over his lips, looking for all the world as if he was for once completely uncertain of what to do next, or if that had even happened. With a soft smile Greg had held out his hand and Mycroft, returning the smile, took it. "Merry Christmas brother" Sherlock smugly added and John beamed. "Now Mycroft will give you a lift so you two can talk" John ushered the two towards the black car that awaited them at the end of the road. "Thank you John, I think we can take it from here" Mycroft dismissed him as he stared into Lestrade's eyes with a look so deliriously happy and surprised that John couldn't help but smile as he watched Greg open the door for him to get into his own car.

Sherlock wrapped himself around John from behind and hugged him to his chest as they drove away. "When you asked me to help this afternoon I wasn't expecting a secret plan behind the placement of mistletoe" John shrugged and nestled into the warmth of Sherlock's body "Well it was more of a side plan, I just wanted to kiss you under it." Sherlock chuckled warmly. "Merry Christmas my dearest John" "Merry Christmas love"

A/N I know it's supposed to be Johnlock centric but I can't help myself guys Mystrade is adorable! Thanks for your suggestions for this prompt, for anyone who's wondering the next one is **Leader. **


	27. Chapter 27

**Prompt 27: Leader **

**tw mild child abuse references**

Shock. An untamed pulse of it that blew through each of their bodies as if a bomb had gone off. How had they not seen this, noticed this, felt this before? It seemed unignorable, a constant current raging beneath everything now that they were staring at it in the face, but so very impossible before.

John had to work, even though there was a case on. "I can't just leave them hanging Sherlock, not again. At this rate I'll lose my job because I'm always coming when called. I love the cases, I do, but I kind of need a steady source of income to, you know, live?" he explained hurriedly, chewing on jam covered toast and pulling on his jacket. He did seem genuinely disappointed that he couldn't go with Sherlock today. Sherlock was not feeling better because he felt guilty. Nope, not at all. "Go then, but this one is interesting, At least a seven." Sherlock finally spoke from his curled up position on through couch and he could almost hear John's responding smile. He listened to the footsteps bringing John over to him and smirked as he planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "I'll be back this afternoon, it's only a half shift really. Text me if you're not home and I'll meet you okay?" John added unnecessarily, Sherlock would be texting him through out the day and they both knew it. Sherlock rolled over to face him and kissed him gently "See you later John." John grinned and walked away "See you later Sherlock."

They had stopped saying goodbye a while ago, it had become too permanent a word to say, like they would never see each other again. That was what it had meant the last time either of them had said it, a croaked goodbye and a proclamation of love as they rapidly bled to death next to the rapidly cooling body of a killer. It was a minor miracle that the ambulance arrived in time. No goodbyes after that. John sighed as he stepped into the surgery and greeted the receptionist with a smile. Sherlock would probably be at the scene by now, was Anderson the person designated to be his assistant in John's absence? Sherlock would hate that he mused before sitting behind his desk and rolling up his sleeves. Fifteen patients before lunch. He could do that.

A soft knock at the door and he welcomed his first of the day, a small boy and his mother, no, nanny? Yes, she loved the boy, clearly, but she was impatient, not holding him but his hand though he was evidently ill, she looked more bothered than worried. Sherlock was rubbing off on him it seemed. "Hello there I'm , what seems to be the problem?" The nanny sat the boy down with a soothing pat on the head as he clutched his stomach and sniffled quietly into a worn bear. "He was fine when I arrived this morning to mind him" John silently congratulated himself "and then he threw up some bile. I think he has a fever but the family don't seem to keep anything of use around, no thermometer, no calpol... When he started to shake I decided to bring him here." John nodded and walked across to the boy who was indeed trembling a little in his tiny clothes. "Would you mind awfully if I asked you to sit up on the big bed over there and do a few things for me?" If John wasn't mistaken he could have sworn that the child looked terrified at the prospect. "What's your name, huh? You remind me of a friend of mine actually." and he did, with his dark curls and pale (greenish) skin, he was a dead ringer for a certain detective he was knew. "Callum" the boy called as he clambered awkwardly onto the examination table. "Well Callum, I'm just going to take your temperature, try and find out what's making you feel ill alright? This goes in your ear for a while so we can chat until it beeps ok?" Callum played with his sleeves and didn't reply, his nanny wasn't even paying attention, engrossed in her phone by the door.

He cleared his throat "So Callum how old are you?" Callum held up four fingers, eyes trained to the floor. "Wow, are you sure you're only four? You seem so much bigger than a four year old. Do you have any brothers or sisters?" John inquired lightly and was relieved at the slight shake of his head, even if it dislodged the thermometer somewhat. "That's cool, I bet your parents spoil you rotten" There it was again, fear. Over whelming terror. Now he was worried, the first one he could write of as a fear of doctors or injections but that was blatant. He was afraid of his parents. There was a loud beep and he looked at the numbers, reading the high fever in an instant. It looked like Callum had the flu, but he wanted to do a full check up just in case. Better safe than sorry. "Callum can you take off your shirt for me, I want to listen to your heart and lungs properly." The boy stiffened beside him and looked up with tear filled eyes, bright brown orbs that made John feel horrible. "I... I'm not supposed to. Daddy says it's against the rules." John braced himself for what he was about to see. "It's okay Callum, you can show me. I won't hurt you, I promise." The slip of a boy bit his lip, clearly torn as to what to do. "Just do what he asks Cal, you'll be in trouble if you don't" finally the girl at the door chimed in and clearly Callum didn't want to be in trouble because he unzipped his jacket carefully and held his arms in the air. Gently John tugged his t-shirt up and over his head, holding back the grimace at the sight that revealed itself. His entire left side was covered in bruises at various stages of healing and his arms were no better, the outline of two hands molded into the soft skin. What he really payed attention to were the protruding ribs and flat stomach. "Callum" he began, so softly that the only person who would hear was the boy "when did you last eat?" He looked confused, like John was some sort of alien to ask. "Last week. If I'm good and follow the rules Daddy might give me more in a few days." John felt sick, so much so that he had to close his eyes and compose himself for a minute. "You can put your

top back on now, I'm just going to talk to your nanny for a second so you wait there." John stood and strode over to the girl who was no more than twenty and looked completely oblivious, but she had said he'd be in trouble, as if she knew the significance of the threat to the little boy. "Miss? Have you seen Callum's chest before?" he asked praying she'd say no. "No? I just stay with him until from eight to twelve and make sure he doesn't burn the house down. That's it. Why?" Sometimes John wondered how people got their jobs and Melanie here was one such person. "Right, okay. Does Callum have two parents or just a father?" She shook her head, still not looking up "Just the boy and his dad." Looking back at the small boy he strengthened his resolve to help him. "Ok well miss I'm going to make a call to social services on behalf of Callum here, you can go if you want." That made her look. She looked at Callum and then at John, turned on her heel and left. "Okay Callum, I'm going to get my boss to come in and take a look at you, and maybe have a chat ok? But first I'm going to give you some medicine to bring down your fever." Sarah came within minutes of his page and knocked on the door. He had been on the floor, playing with Callum, and pushed himself up to tell her what he had seen. She made the call and took Callum into her office. It would be a long day.

When John finally got a chance to look at his phone he was leaving the surgery for the day. As expected Sherlock hadbeen texting him all day with varying degrees of coherency. The only one he played attention to was the last one **Scotland Yard -SH**. Smiling to himself John hopped in a taxi to the yard.

Sherlock was getting rather tired of being called for easily solved cases. While at first glance the case had seemed interesting, he saw through it almost instantaneously. The mother had killed the children as revenge for the father getting custody, and then he had killed her for the offence. Obviously. It was just barely worth getting dressed for and not near worth the amount of paper work he would have to do in the same room as Anderson and Donovan. Nothing was worth that, yet there he was, sitting by the door trying desperately to ignore them while he filled in his statement. That it seemed, was not how they wanted the day to play out.

"Oi, freak. What are you doing here?" Sherlock sighed and gritted his teeth. "I'm doing your job, as I so often do." he replied coolly and smiled into the splutters of indignation that ensued. "We don't kill people freak, we're not psychopaths like you. You're a waste of space and if it were up to us you'd have been put away a long time ago. Just keep that in your weird brain, freak. You don't belong here, or anywhere else for that matter. You're nothing." John had made it right to the door of the room where Sherlock was supposed to be, just cracking it open as Sally went on her tirade. He watched as Sherlock's face fell and he held his hands together before replacing the indifferent mask everyone was used to. Sherlock was hurt and John, well he was enraged. He threw the door open and glared at Donovan and Anderson. "Right. I am only going to say this once so pay very close attention. You two work for people who have asked for Sherlock's help time and again, because everyone they've hired has been too _incompetent_ to solve cases that need solving. Sherlock is here to help put criminals behind bars for you and to solve the puzzle for himself. Now. I don't particularly care what he's said to you because it's more than likely true. But what you say to him on a daily basis is unacceptable and from now on I refuse to accept it. If I so much as hear the word freak coming out of either of your mouths you will have a very angry, very capable, me to answer to. And believe me I would have no qualms in showing you exactly how capable I am. _Once_ more. That's all it will take and I won't hold back. Do you understand?" John barked out, standing taller, using the voice he had reserved for the army.

Anderson and Donovan stood shocked into silence and in fact the entire floor had gone quiet, Lestrade had popped his own head out of his office too. "I'll repeat myself, do you understand?" They nodded profusely and he stood back. "You'll do well to remember it." and he turned to the crowd staring at him in shock from their cubicles. "That goes for all of you. Show him the respect he deserves." John swiveld back to face Sherlock and smiled brightly at him. "Well now that's sorted. Are you nearly done? I'll just grab us a taxi and meet you outside, unless you want me to get them to grovel?" Sherlock smirked and shook his head fondly at him. The yarders were shocked. How had they not seen this before? John was clearly born to lead, to take charge of all those around him. It was terrifying. John grinned and pecked him on the cheek which gained a gasp from the two who saw it and winked at him before making his way back outside in his usual friendly manner. Lestrade stared at him as he went and walked in to the office still looking surprised. "What the hell was that?! That wasn't like John at all!" he exclaimed to Sherlock who was fastening scarf. "Oh yes, you haven't seen Captain John Watson in action before have you? You all see the doctor, the friend, the back up but you never see the leader. He's good isn't he?" Lestrade nodded "That's an understatement if I ever heard one. I don't think anyone here would dare disobey him" he added in awe as he walked with Sherlock to the door. "That's the objective Lestrade. Text me if there's something on that's worth my while." and with that he bounded onto the street where John was waiting and their taxi was just pulling up.

"Bad day?" he asked as they slid into the backseat. John sighed "A bit yeah, child abuse case, a little four year old boy. He looked a lot like you... I think I just got a bit more riled up by what Donovan was saying because of it but I still probably would have chewed them out over it" Sherlock grasped his hand and smiled brightly. "Thank you anyway. I'm looking forward to the next case already!" he joked and John chuckled. It would be interesting all right. He hadn't been kidding, one toe out of line and "Sherlock? Mycroft could get me off of a murder charge right?" and they collapsed into giggles in the back of the taxi, leaving the driver utterly bewildered.


End file.
